Sol of the Dark Tower
by nemesis1807
Summary: She was Sol, servant of the Overlord and sworn to evil, but she never realized just what this meant and how it would eventually change her.
1. Sol and the Heroes

Minions didn't fight in formations, didn't strategize. They just fell upon their enemies and relied on brute strength, numbers and suicidal bravery to win. As Sol surveyed the chaotic battle laid out before her, she could tell that that wasn't going to be enough this time. Even to call it a battle was being generous, for it more closely resembled a slaughter.

In the caverns below the Dark Tower, seven heroes stood against a minion horde, and were winning. The walls shook and the ceiling trembled as the Overlord fought the eighth, the wizard, in the throne room above. All Sol needed to do was hold out long enough for him to kill that self-righteous prick and get down here to face the rest of these self-proclaimed heroes. The minions always fought better in his presence, and it wouldn't take long for these fools to be turned into smears on the walls.

The chain of the enormous Khan's morning star mace rattled as he decimated whole ranks of browns. Greens tried to flank him, but that puffed up Sir William with his hairdo that screamed "pompous dickhead" guarded his back.

_This will have to be dealt with before they can thin the horde out any more,_ Sol thought.

There was a soft, barely audible thump from behind, and Sol whirled around and raised her bladed staff just in time to block the twin daggers of Jewel. Annoyance flashed across the hero's face before she jumped back out of range of attack.

_She looks like she's barely out of the cradle,_ Sol thought as she lowered herself down into a fighting stance. _Time to show her how the adults do things._

Jewel raised her daggers as if about to attack, but instead chose to flee. She ran to the edge of one of the many holes that turned the room into a twisting and treacherous maze and jumped across.

Sol snarled and ran after her. Jewel was fast and nimble and danced across the uneven stone floor like an acrobat, too fast for Sol's throwing knives. In a fair chase the hero would have always stayed just out of reach, but since when did servants of the Overlord ever play fair? Sol concentrated her magic to form a small barrier. With a grunt of effort and the crackling of blue sparks, she willed it forward to slam into Jewel's back, sending her sprawling.

Ignoring the sudden wave of fatigue, Sol darted forward to close the gap between her and the hero. As she raised her staff, the wicked, leaf-shaped blade edge gleaming with murderous intent, she suddenly yelped at a sudden pain in her calf. She looked down to see that Melvin, the hero small even for a Halfling, had plunged a knife into her leg. With a snarl she gave the diminutive hero a fierce kick that sent him sailing across the room.

By then Jewel was long gone and in her place stood the dwarf Goldo, hefting an axe and heavily protected with steel plate armor. Oberon the elf stood several feet behind him drawing back the string of his bow with a face devoid of emotion.

_Shit._

The arrow was loosed and flew through the air with deadly accuracy even as Goldo struck, leaving no time for Sol to focus her magic. Sol deflected the dwarf's axe with the shaft of her weapon, but the arrow buried itself deep into her shoulder, easily slicing through her darkened leather armour.

It was then the reds struck, throwing balls of fire from across a gap in the floor. The sudden onslaught drew the heroes' attentions long enough for Sol to escape to the far side of the room where a pack of blues tended to fallen minions.

"Heal me," she ordered, but received only vacant stares from the assembled blues.

"Heal me, or you'll be explaining to the Overlord why you disobeyed his orders."

They hissed and bared triangular, shark like teeth at her, but did as they were told. It was always a fight for Sol to get the minions to do as she said. She was neither a minion, a mistress, nor a slave, yet followed and served the Overlord, and they just didn't know what to make of it. Unless they could destroy it, the minions hated change and anything new and thus she was viewed as an unwanted interloper and the minions would be happy to tear her apart if only their master hadn't expressly ordered against it.

The arrow was removed, the wounds sealed. They felt stiff and sore, but there wasn't anything that could be done about that. Sol turned and regarded the battle once more, and things were not going well. Goldo and Oberon, now joined by Jewel, had reached the reds and were obliterating them while, across the room, Khan and Sir William cut bloody swathes through the browns and greens. She wasn't sure where the Halfling Melvin had gone, but the last hero, a lightly armored human with short, black hair and determined green eyes cautiously advanced towards Sol and the blues with a long sword held at the ready.

Sol regarded him coolly. She was just so sick of heroes. With unhurried motions she pulled a hilt less throwing knife from its sheathe, the small blade coated with a pale green substance. Panic flashed across the hero's features as Sol threw the knife.

It hit him in the shoulder. He stumbled back a few steps, his muscles already locking in place as the paralysis poison took effect. He fell and tumbled down one of the holes into the black abyss below.

_One down…_

A fierce tremor rocked the tower, causing Sol to stumble. A pulse of magic came from the throne room above, and utter chaos erupted as the minions all begin to yell and scream, only to scatter and flee in different directions, all courage and purpose deserting them.

It was obvious to Sol what had happened. Impossibly, the wizard had triumphed, the Overlord was gone, and she was royally screwed.

Sol ran from the room. Her only hope was to escape the tower before the heroes thought to chase after her.


	2. Sol and the Bar

Three Years Later

Sol didn't know why she hadn't left yet. She could have left this place far behind, forgotten all about the Dark Tower, but instead she had wandered this land and the Overlord's former domain before ending up in a dimly lit tavern in the village of Spree.

_It's not like there is somewhere else I need to be._

She drained her cup, then signaled to the Ruborian tavern keeper for a refill. His name was Archibaldamius something or other, some ridiculously long name that he had toted out when she had first arrived as if she was supposed to be impressed. Sol had then dubbed him "Dumbass" and did her best to ignore him.

"Lucky for you the Halflings didn't steal the drinks, just the food. You know, you look like you can handle yourself in a fight. If you're looking for a job-"

"Fuck off," Sol growled and turned her attention to her cup.

He stepped away, equal parts nervous and offended. While Sol may have been getting low on coin, she wasn't going to stoop so low as to become some errand girl for a middle-of-nowhere hamlet like Spree.

_And getting drunk in some middle-of-nowhere hamlet like Spree is much better?_

It was times like these that Sol's hatred of those wretched heroes resurfaced, though it wasn't really because they had killed the Overlord. In truth, she hadn't ever even liked the man. He was arrogant and self-satisfied, prone to giving long winded speeches about how clever and better than everyone else he was. How many defeated heroes had managed to escape because he insisted on explaining just why they had lost and how cunning his plan was before killing them? No, she mourned not the man but the opportunity he presented, the sense of purpose even if that purpose was to destroy and bring about ruin. Her skills had been constantly tested, her wits challenged, there had always been some new mission to embark on, but then they had come and taken it all away to leave her with nothing.

She drained another cup and turned her focus to what just she should now.

Suddenly, she felt a familiar pulse of magic and instantly shot to her feet, all earlier thoughts abandoned.

_That almost felt like a Tower Gate discharge. But it couldn't be…_

She threw down a pouch of coins onto the tavern counter and bolted out the door. The pulse had been weak, but she could tell that it had originated from somewhere just outside of Spree's walls. She made her way to the village's front gate.

"I need to get out of Spree. Open the gate," she ordered a villager in homespun clothes holding a pitch fork.

"Sorry, but the gates need to stay closed. Can't risk those wossnames Halflings gettin' in," he said.

Sol's eyes narrowed. These dull-eyed, dim-witted, stench ridden peasants, so much like the sheep they raised, thought they could tell her what she could and couldn't do?

Her hand shot out to grab him by the throat and pull him close to stare him directly in the eye.

"Look here you slack jawed fool. You are going to open this gate right now or Halflings are going to be the least of your worries," she threatened in a low, menacing voice.

The villager tried to squirm his way from Sol's grasp, but she only squeezed harder.

"Open the gate," he managed to squeak.

She released him as the wooden gate creaked and shuddered its way open. Sol left him gasping for breath and hurried out of Spree and down the path. She had only gone a short distance before she began to hear the voices.

"Mouldy! Keep up with the other minions!"

Gnarl? What was he doing here? He never left the Tower.

"Giblet, I see you pretending to hold it with one claw!"

It was unmistakably Gnarl, though, the withered old minion master.

"Hold your share, Gubbin, you useless sack of pus!"

Sol broke into a run, vaulted over a fallen pillar blocking the path and made her way to the top of a hill to see a group of brown minions labor to carry a large, dark sphere, like a giant black pearl, towards one of the old Tower gates.

_The Tower Heart!_

Gnarl stood to the side, overseeing the minions, and standing beside the Tower portal was a tall, broad man hefting a large axe and wearing steal armor accompanied by a tri-pointed helm and the distinctive, life force gathering gauntlet of the Overlord.


	3. Sol and the New Management

**Hello there, people! This is your author speaking. I would just like to thank the ones who sent me those reviews, and in response to said reviews:**

**-I am well aware I suck at writting summaries. As for the rest of this review... I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to take that.**

**-I'm glad you like the story, and you can thank spell check for the "free of errors" part.**

Sol stood there, frozen in place, even as the minions dropped the Tower Heart on the arcane stone circle of the Tower Gate and it disappeared in a haze of blue light. Another pulse of magic emanated from the gate and confirmed that this was indeed real and not a figment of the drink.

How was this possible? From what she had gathered from Gnarl, if an Overlord died without an heir, it could take generations for a new one to be found, decades at the very least, not three years! Then again, Gnarl was a lying bastard who hated her guts.

Sol quickly pulled a length of black fabric from the bag that hung at her side. Keeping a close watch on the Overlord, she wound it around her face and head, leaving only her eyes uncovered.

_Black, hardened leather armor…check. Daggers and throwing knives visible in their sheathes…check. Blades extended on staff and strapped to back…check._

People had their own opinions as to what evil should look like. While Sol usually couldn't care less what people thought of her, she had to make an impression. If that meant putting on a little act and conforming to some stereotypes, then so be it.

_Here's to hoping I don't smell of alcohol._

She started towards the gate with calm, controlled steps. They hadn't noticed her yet, and that would work to her advantage.

"It has been a long time since true evil has touched this land, my lord," Sol said in a tone that gave nothing away.

The look on Gnarl's face was beyond priceless. His expression went from shocked to mad to annoyed in the span of heartbeats before becoming an emotionless mask. Sol struggled to keep from laughing out loud.

The other five minions flicked their eyes from Sol to their master, waiting for the command to attack and eager for the opportunity to kill something else. They were all newborns who either didn't recognize who she was or had never heard of her.

The Overlord regarded her with a pair of glowing amber eyes. He stood, silent and unmoving, in his spiked steel armor holding his axe so it rested easily on his shoulder, the blade slick with blood from some earlier victory.

_By Sithian, that's unnerving. Ok, don't mess this up. You really need this job._

"It is good to know that the throne of the Overlord is once again occupied. I fought for your predecessor before his unfortunate demise at the hands of those annoyingly persistent heroes."

"Ha! More like fled at the moment things started looking bad," Gnarl declared and Sol had to fight the urge to strangle him. Killing the Overlord's advisor was not the way to get on his good side, no matter how satisfying it would be.

"Come, Sire. We have a tower to repair and a dark domain to establish."

Gnarl moved to the Tower Gate, but the Overlord paid him no notice.

_Do you seek to serve me?_

The voice appeared like a whisper in the back of her mind and Sol couldn't stop her eyes from widening. He was telepathic?! Sol knew that Gnarl could communicate with the Overlords over great distances, but that was done through the Tower Heart and relayed through their helmets, not directly into their minds!

"I- I am your loyal servant, my lord."

Damn it! Sol couldn't keep the waver from her voice. The mind thing really creeped her out. She only hoped that the 'loyal servant' part of her sentence would outweigh that and not ruin her chances. In her experience, Overlords loved having little reminders of their authority thrown into conversations.

_Did you abandon your last master?_

"I fought on until he fell."

"Then ran off like your ass was on fire," Gnarl snorted, but his comment was ignored.

The Overlord scrutinized her for several moments, before jerking his head in the direction of the gate. Sol followed behind him to the portal, a little surprised at how easy that was.

Gnarl gave her a dirty look as she passed, and then her world was consumed in a blue glow when she stepped on the arcane circle linking this place to the Tower.

It was an odd sensation, using the Tower Gate. It gave Sol a feeling of detachment, as if everything had suddenly ceased to be real and she was the only thing that existed, and for a few seconds while immersed in the light blue nothingness of the teleport without physical form, nothing seemed to matter.

It was soon over and Sol materialized in the disaster of a throne room in front of a pool of water over which the recovered Tower Heart hung suspended by some unseen force.

The place was in shambles, debris littered the floor and blocked off passageways, the floor was cracked with chunks of stone ripped up, pillars were broken into pieces, sections of the arched ceiling above fallen down, and the throne itself was sheered in half. It looked as if a war had been waged in this room, which was exactly what had happened. All the ornaments, the gold, the silver, all of the many displays of wealth that had adorned this room were gone, no doubt looted by those damned heroes. It looked like they had taken everything that wasn't nailed down, then came back to pry those up too. From the state of the place, Sol would've wagered that the Overlord couldn't have been in power long, a few days at most.

Gnarl arrived in a haze of blue light and brushed past Sol directly to the Overlord.

"It is back where it belongs. This is the Tower Heart, Sire," the minion master declared and waved one withered hand to indicate the dark orb floating above the pool. It slowly descended and sunk below the water of the Tower Portal.

"It will play a vital role in helping reestablish your Dark Domain! It will allow you to visit the Tower whenever you wish and provide access to all of the Tower's resources. It will grow in power with you, but to give it that extra boost you will need to find the stolen Tower Objects, such as this one."

He gestured to a spot behind and to the right of the crumbling throne where a cylindrical stone statue resided. It was carved into the likeness of a minion, but very general and without any defining features, equally resembling a brown, red, green and blue, confined between two stone circles at the top and bottom.

"This will increase the number of minions you can control at a time to ten. And the Heart seems to have retained one of its spells.

Above the doorway that led to the dungeon was a plaque with a metal representation of a phoenix head protruding form it.

"The Fireball Spell. Robust fellow. Might have known he'd make it. I urge you, Sire, find more of our missing Tower objects! A crane would be particularly handy. Then we could clear the debris around here, open up some rooms."

"There's a crane in Spree," Sol supplied. The two turned to look at her, Gnarl looking irritated at being interrupted and the Overlord as if he was surprised that she would know anything about these things.

_Thanks for the vote of confidence._

"At least there was. Some of the villagers were complaining about how the Halflings kept stealing stuff. I think they have it now."

"Then your path is clear. Unfortunately, I'm not the evil entity that I once was. I cannot take the feel of lush green grass under my feet or bird song in my ears," Gnarl practically spat out the words as if they were the most repulsive things imaginable. "In fact, I think I need to find a dark corner, and something to pummel. I shall stay here. The Heart shall let me speak directly to you, Sire, and see and hear what you do."

_Barely even started yet and already Gnarl is giving orders,_ Sol thought. _And I thought the Overlord was supposed to be in charge. Just like old times, I suppose. _

…

Sol and the Overlord materialized in the hills surrounding Spree. As ten browns were summoned through the Minion Gate and Sol regarded the bright and vibrant location, she noticed how completely isolated the village was. Places like this had a timeless quality about them, generations living and dying in the exact same manner as those before them. Even the Halfling attacks were probably a continued affair, a feud passed on from parents to children until no one remembered just how it all started, though it had escalated in recent months. These types of places didn't know how to handle change, how to adapt, and would submit quickly and easily.

"Testing, testing! One, two. Is this thing working? It's a bit grubby."

Sol cringed at Gnarl's screeching, distorted and far too loud voice. Unlike the telepathy of the Overlord which entered the mind like a subtle breeze, Gnarl's broke in like a rampaging hurricane that sounded as if he was screaming directly into her ear. Sol had earlier dipped the cloth that wrapped around her face into the water pool of the Tower Gate. It didn't equate to the level of connection the Overlord's helmet possessed, being crafted with the enchantments instead of having them added later on, but it allowed her to hear whatever Gnarl said, something she was now regretting.

"Can you hear me, Master?! Oh… there you are!" Sol breathed a sigh of relief as his voice evened out to a tolerable level. "Once you have your minions sorted out, head for that peasant village… Spree. Revolting name."

The minions laboriously pushed clear a pillar that blocked the path and they approached the village. As they neared Spree's gate a voice cried out, "Halflings approachin'! Get ready!"

"Moron," Sol muttered with disgust.

"Hang on," said a second villager atop the gate. "Those ain't Halflings! Look at the one with the helmet."

"Hmmm… could be two Halflings holding up some armor," Moron exclaimed. "Yeah, I bet that's it."

"Hey, Moron!" Sol called out to the villagers. "Listen to your not-quite-as-stupid friend and let us in!"

Moron's eyes narrowed. "The name's Herbert, and why should I let you in after what you did to me?"

Sol squinted and blocked out the sun with her hand. Come to think of it, he did look vaguely familiar…

"Near strangled me, you did. And now you want back in? It'll be a cold day in Hell 'fore that happens."

Moron continued ranting and Sol picked up a small stone from the ground. With a lazy flick of her wrist, the stone flew through the air to hit Moron directly in the center of the forehead.

He fell backwards off the gate with a thud and Sol threw up her arms in triumph.

"Bull's-eye!" she cried as Not-Quite-As-Stupid watched with wide eyes.

"It hasn't even been an hour and she has us locked out of the town," Gnarl hissed. "You really should rethink this, Sire. Her head would look great decorating a pike."

Sol ignored the comment and regarded Not-Quite-As-Stupid.

"Are you going to let us in now, or should I move on to knives?"

The villager paled and ran down to the gate mechanism.

"It would seem these peasants respond well to fear, even when all they have to do is duck behind their walls," Sol remarked.

The wooden gate creaked open, allowing uncontested access to Spree.

"Still, stupidity has its uses."


	4. Sol and the Tumble

**Remember, reviews are always welcome and I can't get better without input.**

Dumbass wasted no time in getting to the bootlicking. When the minions ran in and started drinking every drop of alcohol in sight, he adopted a shit-eating grin and waltzed up to the Overlord.

"Ah, it's nice to see folks enjoying themselves for a change. Quite a wild bunch, aren't they? Back home in Ruboria I'm called-"

"Yes, I already know," Sol interrupted. "Your parents hated you so they gave you an idiotic sounding, ridiculously long and impossible to remember name."

"So your back, and made some new friends, I see."

His face twitched slightly at the effort of remaining polite. The spiked armored man with glowing eyes and holding a giant axe standing beside her was probably good incentive to suppress any comebacks.

"Have you reconsidered the job offer? We've had some tough times. The Halflings have ransacked the farms and most everyone has turned up in Spree, at least those the Halflings didn't enslave, on my doorstep! They voted me mayor! I got the drinks, yeah, but no food to feed them. Look, I really need some… er…"

He looked around at the surrounding minions getting drunk and having pissing contests in front of the tavern.

"… valiant knights to get us back the food the Halflings stole from us in their village to the east, and the captured villagers in the slave camp to the south."

The Overlord regarded the mayor for several moments.

_Tell him we will free the slaves at the camp and retrieve the food._

"Huh?"

He turned his amber eyes on Sol.

_Tell him we will aid Spree. Gratitude can go just as far as fear._

Sol relayed what the Overlord had said, and the mayor's expression instantly brightened.

"Oh, thank you! And remember, fuller tummies for us equals fuller pockets for you, if you get my drift."

Sol was more than a little surprised by this turn of events. The last Overlord's concept of compassion stretched only to not smiting every person he saw. She supposed that a starved village wouldn't be all that profitable to rule, and the crane was most likely in the Halfling work camp somewhere. She only hoped this wasn't a common occurrence. Sol knew how to act with an evil through and through Overlord, but not this. In a position such as hers, not knowing how to act could get her killed.

They left out the southern gate then turned east and crossed a short span of bridge to a road lined with golden fields of wheat. A chattering noise issued from somewhere amongst the stalks, some kind of guttural and unidentifiable language. A Halfling jumped out of its hiding place amidst the wheat.

The creature was slightly shorter than a minion, as wide as it was tall and brandished a crude sword, no bigger than a knife by human standards.

"There, in the fields!" Gnarl called out. Sol could picture him in her mind's eye, hunched over a short pedestal supporting a wide bowl of water taken from the Tower Portal, watching all the Overlord did. "Greedy little Halflings. Use your fireball spell on the wheat and roast them like suckling pigs!"

A ball of intense flame shot out from the Overlord's outstretched hand. It landed amongst the wheat and quickly spread as the minions fell upon the attacking Halflings, tearing it to pieces.

Pained screams and the stench of burning flesh rose from the fields. Many attempted to flee onto the road and escape the scorching flames, but they were easily dispatched in their panicked state.

They continued along, soon turning south once again, the Overlord shooting balls of fire all the way. They passed two scruffy and malnourished looking villagers who were overjoyed at the deaths of so many Halflings.

"You rescued us!" The first exclaimed as Sol wiped the blood from the blades of her staff. "Our kneecaps are safe from the Halflings!"

Sol couldn't tell if that was a legitimate worry of his or a stab at humor.

"After the Halfling Melvin Underbelly returned from those adventures, they called him a hero!" the second informed them. "Then things went very wrong. Melvin used to be small… well, small for a Halfling, anyway, but he developed a vast appetite."

Melvin the Halfling hero? The last Sol had seen of him was when he was sent flying through the air in the caverns below the Tower.

"Now he's huge! I got too close to him once. Nearly lost an arm! His henchmen stole Spree's food and forced us to work in the fields to grow more food for Melvin!"

Hmm… Melvin had been fighting for the cause of good. Now it would seem that he had given in to evil and gluttony.

The villagers ran back to Spree and the Overlord, accompanied by his minions and Sol, continued down the path. They reached a tall fence of sharpened, vertical logs, the only way through being a wooden gate made in the same manner as the fence and guarded by several Halflings with swords and several more on a raised, wooden platform covered with piles of rocks.

_Sharp, pointy sticks seem to be all the rage around here._

The Overlord wasted no time and charged right in with his minions at his back. The Halflings on the platform began throwing their rocks. Most bounced harmlessly off the Overlord's armor, but some hit with enough force to make him stumble, and the minions had no protection whatsoever and were taking some serious damage.

Sol charged up the stairs to the platform only to have a rock hit her square in the chest. She fell backwards, her shoulders hit the stairs, her feet flew up and she backward somersaulted down the rest of the stairs to land in a heap.

_I really, really hope no one saw that._

She got back on her feet and focused her magic. Blue sparks danced on her widespread hand that she held it out in front of her, palm facing outwards. A faint blue sheen could be seen in the air before her, and the thrown rocks bounced off harmlessly as she climbed the stairs once again.

The Halflings carried no melee weapons, relying solely on their rocks to keep attackers back. As soon as Sol got close enough to use her staff, she dropped the barrier and dispatched the rock throwers easily in a flurry of blood.

By then the Overlord had finished off the Halfling swordsmen and he sent his remaining eight minions, now outfitted with looted Halfling equipment, to turn the wheel beside the gate.

With grunts of effort, the browns managed to open the gate, revealing a path cutting through the trees. Bright red banners bearing the word "obey" in large, white letters hung from several of the trees.

"This must be the work camp those peasants spoke of," Gnarl said.

"Really? What tipped you off?" Sol remarked sarcastically.

"Oh, you know, the Halflings, the banners, all that stuff."

"Very astute observation."

"A four syllable word, Sol? Be careful not to strain your little brain overly much," Gnarl laughed.

_Enough!_

The two instantly quieted at their master's silent command.

They passed through the now open gate and a stone circle, glowing blue, emerged from the ground by the path.

"The Tower seems to have extended its reach. This is a Waypoint Gate. Use it to teleport yourself, or objects, back to the Tower. It'll save some wear and tear on your boots, Sire!"

A brown Minion Gate burst forth from the ground opposite the Waypoint Gate. Two browns were summoned to bring the horde size back up to ten and they continued down the tree lined path. They eventually reached a clear area surrounded by hills enclosed by a wall of sharpened logs on either side. Platforms were built into the hills were more rock throwers were stationed, looking down on the Halfling swordsmen below. If they went directly for the swordsmen, they'd be caught in a crossfire between the rock throwers. If they went for the rock throwers, they'd be caught between them and the swordsmen. They didn't have the numbers to split into two groups and take them on, and Sol just didn't have the strength needed to hold up a barrier for and extended period of time.

"Charging right in won't do us any good," Sol said.

_What do you propose?_

"A little demonstration of my abilities," she answered cryptically.

Sol darted off the path and into the woods. She followed the fence, careful not to step on any twigs or leaves so as to not alert the Halflings on the other side of her presence.

Skulking around in and enemy camp brought back memories. Not fond memories, mind you, but memories none the less. In the past, she had often been sent out scouting with a group of green minions. Fortunately, greens were the only minion tribe that didn't outright hate her, willing to tolerate Sol's presence as long as she had skill. Unfortunately, they all stank to high heaven. Getting crammed into a small space with the reeking buggers for hours on end during a stakeout was not an experience she wanted to repeat.

Sol scaled a tree and carefully slid down a branch that ended just short of the fence. She reached out and hauled herself up to crouch on top of the wall, feet placed on either side of a wooden spike.

She could clearly see everything from up there. The path continued straight on from where the Overlord waited out of sight to Sol's right before sloping down deeper into the camp to Sol's left. Halfling swordsmen milled about on the path, unorganized and undisciplined. Platforms bearing three rock throwers each were on both side of the path, two on the side below Sol and one on the opposite side. A smaller version of the wall under Sol's feet ranged the path in front of the platforms, leaving only openings up to the rock throwers on the left sides of the hills.

She walked along the wall to the far right and drew her daggers, one in each hand. Sol jumped down onto the platform, right on top of the rock throwers. Two went down instantly with a blades lodged in their backs. The third whipped around and opened its mouth to shout. Sol lunged forwards and snapped its neck with a sharp twist of her hands before it could make a sound then flattened herself to the wooden platform.

There was no cry of alarm, no Halflings rushing up to kill her. She cautiously raised her head and looked around. No one had noticed the rock throwers' deaths, expecting an attack from down the path, not over the walls.

Sol retrieved her daggers and carefully backed off the platform onto the hill it was built into. With the same slow pace she hugged the fence line and army crawled to the second platform.

She sprang to her feet and killed the three surprised and unprepared Halflings in a whirlwind of movement and flashing daggers. Without stopping, she drew her hilt-less throwing knives and sent them spinning across the gap to the opposite platform. The last of the rock throwers fell, but not as quietly as their fellows.

The swordsmen cried out as they caught sight of the enemy in their midst. Sol drew her staff from where it was strapped to her back and jumped off the platform.

Sol's staff was no ordinary weapon, nor a simple tool. It was part of her past, her heritage, forged with magic and materials alien to this. The white Kyfor-wood that made up its shaft was harder than any known metal, light enough to wield without difficulty and resistant to most forms of magic. The Sithian blessed metal that ran through its core and made up the retractable blades was even more remarkable, able to amplify her magic.

Blue sparks crackled and coursed across her body down through the staff as she focused her magic and sent it into her weapon. She slammed it into the ground as she landed, creating a spherical barrier. The barrier expanded in all directions, a translucent wall of blue that slammed into the surrounding Halflings and knocked them back. Dazed from the sudden blast, the Halflings were easily taken care of.

The Overlord came down the path upon hearing the commotion and eyed the carnage wordlessly. The corpses of Halflings were strewn about like discarded toys, and the minions ran forward to loot and pillage the bodies. Sol stood in the center of it all, blood dripping from the blades of her staff and staining her armor. Almost absentmindedly she wiped the crimson liquid from her staff then twisted the center mechanism, retracting the blades, and returned it to the straps on her back.

She felt drained, as if she had just ran a marathon. Using magic always made her tired, especially when amplified. The fire that burns brightest also burns out fastest.

Sol pushed past the fatigue and followed the Overlord deeper into the camp until they finally reached the end of the path.

The good news: they had found the crane and the slaves.

The bad news: they were guarded by a troll.

It was a large, pale yellow colored creature with thick limbs, a bloated gut and a protruding brow, trademarks of its race. Chains crossed its back and looped around its shoulders, manacle cuffs encircled its wrists, all relics of earlier, failed attempts at keeping the beast subdued.

The Halflings freed the troll from its cage when they caught sight of the invading force and were now running up a set of stairs next to the cage to the top of a hill away from the troll's murderous reach. There they clustered around a wheel and waited for the tearing of limbs to commence.

"How the hell did those little squirts manage to capture a troll!?" Sol exclaimed.

She scanned the area for anything that could be used to their advantage. The path opened up into a small clearing ringed with steep hills. Directly opposite them was the troll cage and stairs to the left of that and the crane beside that. To the right and left were the cages containing the captive villagers, all screaming to be rescued.

"I'd wager that wheel up there with those Halflings controls the cage doors," Gnarl said. "What's the point in dying when there are others to do it for you? Free those peasants and the troll will be too distracted squashing them to worry about you."

The Overlord seemed to consider this for a moment before turning to Sol.

_ Take care of those Halflings. I'll deal with the troll._

The minions charged forwards, holding aloft their looted weapons and shouting in murderous glee. It didn't matter that they were up against a beast that could crush them like errant flies, suicidal loyalty being an integral part of what made a minion a minion. Sol could only wonder if they were even capable of disobeying an order, or if the thought had even crossed their minds.

They split into two groups as they approached the troll and attacked from two sides. The Overlord was right behind them, lobbing balls of fire at the monster.

Sol never really understood how the Overlord commanded his minions. She had only ever seen him use vague gestures, sometimes not even that, but the minions always knew what to do and what minion tribe was to do it.

She banished all other thoughts and rushed to the stairs. The ground shook as the troll bellyflopped, crushing several minions under its enormous girth. Sol took the stairs two at a time to reach the sword carrying Halflings.

The trick to fighting Halflings was to keep them at a distance, out of range of their short weapons. If they got too close they had a nasty habit of hamstringing their opponents, while conventional weapons were too long for such close combat.

The staff was perfect for this. Fast, stabbing strikes worked well as long as she was careful to keep them shallow. Getting her weapon stuck in a corpse would be somewhat counterproductive and she would rather refrain from using magic in case that troll proved stubborn.

_Stabity, stabity, stab, stab, stab._

Psychopathic thoughts aside, the fight was successful for Sol and she checked on how the Overlord was doing.

Not very well, as it turned out. All but two of the minions were dead and the Overlord's armor was dented and several of the spikes were snapped off.

Sol grabbed the spokes of the wheel and struggled to turn it. Hysterical villagers running about could very well prove distracting enough for the Overlord to land a killing blow. Well, that and those villagers were **really **annoying.

_No!_

Sol looked up, startled.

_I don't need help! I'll kill the damn thing myself or die trying._

"Right now, that's a distinct possibility," she muttered, releasing the wheel.

"Such insolence!" Gnarl exclaimed. "You really should reconsider the pike option, Sire. I know a great place to put it."

_Silence!_

The Overlord spun to the side, avoiding the troll's enormous fists. He landed a strike of his own on the beast's back, but troll hide is thick and tough and the blow angered more than it hurt.

The troll swept its arms around, but the Overlord managed to jump back in time. Even weighed down in a layer of steel he was faster than his lumbering opponent.

One of the two remaining minions ran forward and plunged a short blade into the back of the troll's lower leg. It roared in pain and the weapon must have severed something important as its leg gave out and the minion scampered back.

The Overlord took advantage of the opportunity and blasted fire into the troll's face. It screamed in pain as it attempted in vain to shield itself with its hands.

The Overlord gripped his axe with both hands and brought it around with all the force he could muster. It cut into the beast's neck deeply before coming to a stop. The troll fell forward, dead before it hit the ground.

A cheer arose from the villagers in their cages. A nod from the Overlord and Sol turned the wheel, freeing them.

"Hurrah! We're free!"

":Thank the Gods!"

"Wretched creatures," Gnarl muttered. "Thanking some deity when you're the one who did all the work. Then again, what can you expect from humans?"

"If that's supposed to be a dig at me, I'm not human," Sol said, gesturing to her vertical pupiled, cat-like eyes even though he couldn't see her.

"Semantics."

Sol descended the stairs as the Overlord approached the crane. A Waypoint and a Minion Gate sprouted from the earth nearby.

_Well isn't that convenient,_ Sol thought as more browns were summoned to carry the crane to the Gate where it disappeared in a blue haze.

"Now that we have the crane we can start to rebuild your Tower, Sire," Gnarl said. "I'll start the repairs immediately."

They stepped onto the portal and followed the crane back to the Tower.


	5. Sol and the Rude Awakening

**Remember: Reviews = motivation = faster chapters**

Gnarl had stuck her in a broom closet. That was the first thing that Sol thought as she stepped into the cramped, dirty, windowless room, and she was almost able to touch both walls when she stood in the center and stretched out her arms. The only furniture to speak of was a makeshift cot with a far less than clean looking, threadbare blanket and a small, rickety table that looked as if it one stiff breeze would reduce it to kindling.

He had claimed that it was temporary, just until the upper levels of the Tower were repaired, and then he could find something "more suited to her status".

In other words, he couldn't kill her or stick her in the dungeon, so he went with the next best thing.

She shut the flimsy wooden door, the rusty iron hinges squealing in protest. Shut off from the torches in the hallway, the only illumination came from a single, guttering candle that Sol set down on the table.

The room was still better than many of the tavern rooms she had used in the past. There was no sign of bed bugs, the ceiling wasn't dripping and there wasn't the sound of other patrons "night time activities" issuing through thin walls.

Sol set down her pack in the corner and began to take off her blood splattered armor. Her weapons had already been cleaned and cared for, and right now she just couldn't find the motivation to properly clean her armor. She simply piled it by her bag and went directly to her bed.

On closer inspection, the blanket wasn't just dirty but downright disgusting. Sol didn't want to touch it, let alone use it. She tossed it on the floor despite the chill of the room, made a half-hearted attempt to beat some of the dust off the straw stuffed mattress and collapsed onto the bed still in the clothes she wore under her armor.

They'd be hitting the Halfling village tomorrow, but Sol didn't feel nervous or excited. There was just… nothing. She was beginning to wonder why exactly she had come back to the Tower, why she had been so dead set on joining the Overlord. Sure, it was a great challenge, never a dull moment, but was it all really worth it? Her kind wasn't innately evil as minions were, and it was actually extremely likely that she would be exiled officially if they knew what she had taken part in, so there had to be more than that, now that she had a moment to think it all through. Or, being around Gnarl had just made her extremely paranoid. Who could you trust if you were questioning even your own actions in search for some nefarious plot? Yep, definitely paranoid.

With a sigh Sol blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. Even though it sounded ridiculous, even to her, she got the impression something was off. Another sigh, and she closed her eyes and slept.

Sol liked to think of it as a survival instinct, a reflex born of years of danger and war, keeping her ready to fight at a moments notice. She was like a wolf that had sensed an enemy nearby and attacked without hesitation. This, of course, was complete and utter bullshit as she more closely resembled a little girl waking up from a nightmare.

"Danger! Danger!" Sol awoke screaming when something touched her shoulder as she slept.

Her hand shot out reflexively to punch the offending minion in the face, sending it sprawling across the room.

Sol sat up, the initial panic subsiding as she remembered where she was. Torch light spilled through the now open door, revealing a brown minion with abnormally large ears picking itself off the floor. It hissed and bared its teeth at Sol before it launched itself off through the air and grabbed a fistful of Sol's hair.

"What the _**fuck**_!" Sol shouted and sprang up from the cot.

She tried in vain to pry the minion off, but it just hissed and growled while it kicked and yanked at her hair.

"Get. Off!"

She slammed into a rough, stone wall, breaking the minion's grip. It fell to the floor, stunned, allowing Sol to pick it up by its large ears and throw it out of the room. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed in an I-am-so-pissed-right-now stance and glared at the minion.

If looks could kill the minion would have been a pile of smoking ash by that point.

"What the hell was that all about?!" she demanded.

The brown's eyes narrowed.

"You attacked first," it snarled.

"Well you shouldn't go around sneaking into people's rooms in the middle of the night!"

"It dawn."

"…Unimportant. Now what was so important that you had to wake me up and attack me?"

It stared at her for a long moment.

"You no belong here."

"Wow. Thanks for making me feel so welcome."

"Minions no like you, Master no like you. You leave."

"Yes, everybody hates Sol. So tell me, did Gnarl put you up to this?"

The minion snarled.

"You leave or you die."

It turned and stomped down the hall, ears flopping with each step.

_Well isn't this a great way to start off the day._

Sol returned to her room and sat on the cot, just staring at her hands. The minions were getting hostile already, which couldn't be good, though she doubted Gnarl had anything to do with this particular incident. He was a lot more subtle than that. Still, she had better start checking her shoes and bed now before using them, in case the minions decided to start leaving her "presents" again. Speaking of which…

Her gaze moved over to the discarded pile of armor in the corner.

"I'm up, so might as well do something productive," she muttered and grabbed her leather cuirass and a cloth from her pack.

She cleaned off the worse of the blood and made sure there were no repairs that needed to be done. The dried blood blended in with the black colour of her armor, masking any stains that had sunken into the armor and refused to come out. It was kind of gross when she thought about it, so she tried not to.

When she was finished, she started to put it on, starting with the greaves. Plain, hardened leather, thicker on the backs of the legs to defend against debilitating attacks but thinner behind the knee, sacrificing protection in favour of mobility. A small, finger sized blade was hidden in the seam running up the leg along with a lock pick.

Next came the boots, thickly soled and steel toed. The bottoms were well worked to move soundlessly and featured a hidden compartment. Pull on a certain section and a square of material would slide across, revealing a tiny vial of a potent sleeping poison and a second lock pick hidden in the sole. As she checked to ensure her boot knife was clipped on firmly, she reflected that she really was paranoid.

Then her belt holding her two daggers and several hiltless throwing knives. Once upon a time she had also carried a sword, but it was too slow of a weapon, awkward and cumbersome in her hands.

The cuirass was next, black as pitch save for an insignia that rested over the heart. Two lines shaped like a set of stairs or a thunderbolt, one blue, one yellow crossed over each other to form a jagged X, with another two curving lines like ocean waves, one red and one green, intersected to form a cross and rested on top of the X. The symbol of the Wanderers, a group she had not truly been apart of for years, but it had always amused her to think of how'd they react to see someone bearing their mark do the all the things she had done.

A vast multitude of small pockets also adorned the front of the cuirass. They contained everything from samples of nightshade to aloe vera, from pieces of flint to fragments of dark crystals, from vials of poison to pinches of salt. She had everything she could possibly need and much that she would never use to the point of being ridiculous.

Finally came the gauntlets, though they were more like bracers. They protected the forearms and a thin piece protruded from the main piece to cover the back of the hands, held in place by a small loop around the middle finger, leaving her palms and fingers free.

All in all, it was armor designed to be lightweight and easy to move in. It was good for deflecting glancing blows, but wouldn't stand against direct strikes. But the whole point of Sol choosing leather over something sturdier like steel was to not get hit in the first place.

After fixing her staff onto her back she slung her bag over her shoulder and left the room. As she travelled down the hallway, she took a length of black fabric and wrapped it around her face and head once again. By the time she mad it to the throne room she was all ready to go.

The speed at which minions could work was downright amazing. The debris that had littered floor just yesterday was cleared away. The cracks and holes that had made traversing the room an obstacle course had completely disappeared without a trace save for a slight discoloration where old stone met new. Scaffolding had been set up along the sides of the room where minions toiled tirelessly to repair toppled pillars and fix the walls. By tomorrow they would be starting on the ceiling, and not long after on clearing up the vandalized rooms of the upper reaches of the Tower.

"Careful, Sol. We don't want any unfortunate accidents. You know how clumsy minions can be, and if something where to fall where you're standing…"

Gnarl let his words hang in the air as he approached Sol.

"Death threats already? You're breaking the pattern. It goes subtle insults, overt insults, threats of bodily harm, and _then_ death threats."

Gnarl gave her a sour look.

"Look, if you're here to say that nobody wants me here, you're a bit late. Someone else has already made that abundantly clear."

"Then why are you still here? Or are you just that thick skulled?"

"Because your sunny disposition makes it all worth it," Sol answered sarcastically. "I don't have to explain myself to you, you wrinkly old walnut."

The minion master regarded her for a moment.

"You don't even know why yourself, do you?" he finally said, more to himself than to Sol.

Gnarl's expression turned thoughtful and alarm bells went off in Sol's head. She knew that look. He got it whenever he was scheming. She should be safe, though, as long as he didn't-

An evil smile spread across his features.

_Shit._

Best course of action: get the hell out of there before the ground exploded beneath her feet.

"Always nice chatting with you," Sol said, giving him a mock salute before choosing a door at random and escaping out of the throne room.


	6. Sol and the Exploding Pig

**Halisme: Thanks for the review, and yes, Sol is my own character that I created.**

**Remember reviews are always welcome!**

Sol may have been a little lost, but in her defense the tunnels beneath the Tower were a veritable labyrinth and she had been in too much of a hurry to properly watch where she was going.

It had been years since she had traversed the roughly hewn stone passages, and several places were caved in, blocking off faintly remembered routes. Add to that the Tower had a life of its own and whole sections of tunnels would seemingly appear and disappear over time (not that she could ever prove it, though there were several past occasions where she was certain the Tower was trying to screw with her mind), and she was just about ready to call it quits and start screaming for help.

Then the tunnel opened up into a large, familiar cavern. An underground river twisted through its center, cutting the room in two. On Sol's side were patches of volcanic rock laced with hot, glowing red veins that caused the air above them to shimmer in the heat. On the other side was a rock wall pockmarked with numerous holes of various sizes that leaked a toxic green vapour that quickly dissipated into the air, rendered completely harmless by the time it reached the bank of the river.

Yes, Sol knew this place.

She craned her neck to look at the hole-filled ceiling far above. Through the holes, Sol could see a second layer of hole-punched rock, and another above that. She idly wondered if the black haired human hero had fallen down into this room, or if his corpse was caught in one of the above levels.

She dismissed the thoughts as pointless and unimportant and made her way to the passage she remembered led to the minion burrows. The dark pearl of the Tower Heart slowly rotated serenely in the center of the room, the waters of the Tower Portal shimmered high above, held in place by an unseen force. The brown minions scattered about the room and clustered around their hive stared at Sol with hate-filled eyes as she hurriedly made her way to the spiraling staircase leading up to the Throne Room directly above.

By that time Gnarl was gone and in his place stood the Overlord, fully armored and his axe held loosely by his side while he watched the minions work.

"For creatures that live to destroy things, they are ironically good at fixing them, too."

The Overlord didn't respond.

"After all the base repairs are done, the minions will start tweaking everything and bringing in furniture and the like you find suitable. Your predecessor had a fondness for red satin."

He remained silent, not even acknowledging Sol's presence and she was beginning to get a bit uneasy.

_What was his name?_

The mind-speak thing still creeped her out, but she didn't let it show.

"Who's name?"

_The one who came before me. Everyone calls him 'the last Overlord' or 'your predecessor'. What was his name?_

"I… don't know. He was always just the Overlord."

_So I'm just the latest in a long line of Overlords stretching back to time immemorial, with nothing to distinguish between us until we all become known as a single collective being._

Sol was shocked, mostly because what he was saying was true. When she had travelled amongst the people or read the history books, the way they would tell it would lead one to believe that the Overlord had always been one individual who would conquer the land before being defeated and eventually rising once again. It was just one endless cycle with the same villain in the center.

"So… you want to be known by your name?" Sol asked cautiously.

Tense silence.

"You do have a name, right?"

_I will think of one._

Where did Gnarl find this guy? How could someone not have a name?

The minion master himself entered the room then, and Sol bit back her questions.

"Ah, Sol. I guess it was too much to hope that you'd have gotten lost and died down in the caverns."

"It's not that easy to get rid of me."

"Just like a bad rash."

"A rash can't roast you alive over a fire."

Gnarl opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped when a steel gauntleted hand picked him off the floor, his little feet kicking empty air while he sputtered protests. Sol would've found this hilarious if she herself wasn't grabbed by the back of the collar and hoisted several inches off the ground.

If nothing else, the Overlord was _strong._

_This ends here or I'll kill you both myself, _was the Overlord's silent promise. Sol wasn't quite sure how, but telepathy had tones like any spoken voice, and right now that tone was pissed.

"Understood, Sire," Gnarl squeaked. "Now would you please put me down?"

Gnarl was unceremoniously dropped to the ground and Sol was released.

_Now I do believe we have some Halflings to kill._

…

Spree was just as they had left it, a bright little hamlet populated by simple, mindless creatures and sheep. Moron and Not-Quite-As-Stupid stood on the little bridge outside the town gate, babbling on about how they never doubted them and that they were just having a little fun the other day. Sol couldn't help but accidently-on-purpose knocking the two bootlickers off the bridge and into the foot high water below. Unfortunately, it wasn't high enough to case any injury in the slightest.

They went through Spree and out the eastern gate. Past Spree's limits, armed Halflings attempted to stop them, but only a surprising few.

"Something isn't right here," Sol said. "If their village truly is down this way, I would think it'd be better defended, especially with a human town so close."

_So you think there's a trap._

"…Maybe, or that dumbass of a mayor's information was wrong. Either way, I'll go on ahead and check it out."

The Overlord gave her a nod and Sol ran off the path. She didn't find any Halfling patrols, nor any ambushes, and the closer she got to where the Halfling village was supposed to be, the more on edge she became. Just where was everyone?

Then she crested a hill and got a full view of the village. She ran back to the Overlord.

"They're not setting a trap. They're just really stupid."

…

The group stood atop a hill, looking down. A rough dirt path was several feet below them and wound down to the Halfling village, which was built in a large depression, almost like a giant bowl. Their houses were short and squat, built into small hills and mostly underground. The homes would no doubt be empty, however, as the Halfling population, more than anyone could take on all at once, had gathered in the main square, because it would seem that someone thought it would be a great idea to have a giant party in the midst of a major feud with the neighboring humans even after their slave camp was attacked. Long tables laden with food were set up, people continuously rushing back and forth between them and a large building to refill the food supply. Minstrels played songs on fiddles for drunkenly dancing Halflings while human women, wearing iron slave collars, ran about with trays of drinks. This was all noticed in passing, however, because Sol's attention was immediately drawn to the extremely bloated Halfling standing on a wooden stage decorated with banners.

"Well, well, well," Gnarl said, his voice sounding as if he was standing directly beside Sol and not back at the Tower. "It appears Melvin the Halfling Hero is all grown up… and out! Pity he doesn't have the taste in music he does in food."

Sol was having trouble connecting that tub of lard with the diminutive Halfling she had sent flying across the cavern underneath the Tower three years ago. Now she doubted he could even fit in the tunnels. He was huge, downright gigantic with thick rolls of fat spilling out of his food-splattered clothes, mouth perpetually open even while he ate, allowing grease to spill down his quadruple chin. A golden crown sat crookedly upon his head and he waved around a two-pronged fork like a scepter, not bothering to use it as he shoved food directly into his mouth. Sol felt sick just looking at him.

"So how are we going to go about thins?" Sol asked. "That walking heart attack over there looks like he couldn't take a step without falling over, but his little lackeys are going to be a problem, even with most of them drunk. There's just too many of them."

"I have to agree, Sire. At your current level, you should not alarm them all at once," Gnarl cautioned. "Otherwise they'll have your minions upside down in a pot before you know it."

"We need to find a way to take most of them out at once, or at least distract them," Sol mused. "If we had the reds we could block the exits and roast them, but as it is …"

Sol looked up to see the Overlord staring at her.

"What?"

…

"I must say, Sol, the subservient slave look suits you," Gnarl laughed.

"Shut up, Gnarl, or I swear I'll skin you and use your wrinkly old hide as a rug."

Despite the earlier threat, the Overlord said nothing, but Sol thought she saw an amused glint in his amber eyes.

After a quick trip back to Spree, Sol was now dressed to match the serving humans in the Halfling village. The iron collar chaffed her neck, and she felt horribly exposed in the plain skirt held up by a thick belt, the short shirt that left her stomach uncovered and sandals without any armor or weapons save for the two daggers strapped to her legs hidden by the skirt, not that they'd do much good if anything went wrong down there.

_Don't stand so straight,_ the Overlord told her. _Keep your eyes looking at the ground. You're supposed to be a meek slave girl and not draw any attention to yourself._

Barely suppressing an eye roll, Sol snuck down to the ongoing party, avoiding the path until she was in the village proper.

She really, really didn't want to do this. It wasn't being surrounded by enemies without any proper gear that worried her, or that if even just one Halfling realized that Sol wasn't human she'd be as good as dead, but having to wear a skirt and act all obedient to pint-sized little cretins when she would much rather tear off their arms and beat them to death with them.

Usually, it would be relatively easy for Sol to pass unnoticed through such a gathering, funny eyes or not. No one ever paid any attention to servants or slaves, a fact easily exploited, but not amid Halflings where she was twice the height of everyone around her.

Sol grabbed a serving tray and managed to slowly circulate through the Halflings without drawing any attention until she found herself at the large barrels at the edge of the party where the Halflings kept the ale and the servers refilled the tankards.

She glanced around as she began to fill the tankards from the tap in one of the barrels, waiting for a moment when no one was watching.

No such moment came and she was forced to pick up her tray of drinks and enter the party once again.

This repeated several times, passing out drinks and filling new ones without any opportunity to slip away.

_I need a distraction,_ Sol thought as she filled up her tray once again.

She surveyed the square, looking for anything she could use. It would have to be something big to get the attention of so many people…

She picked up the tray and walked over to the tables of food. Large crowds of Halflings surrounded the tables, but they were too busy eating to pay much attention to one of the many slaves passing out drinks, nor did they notice as her fingers lightly tapped some of the food, the faint sparks on her hands or the strain on her face as she walked away.

Holding a single piece of magic at a distance was difficult, but more than one? Her hands trembled slightly with the effort as her focus narrowed to the patch of dirt in front of her, her concentration locked on keeping the magic from dissipating before she was ready to use it. Her pace slowed considerably until she was moving at a crawl, and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.

Sol was almost back to the barrels when the food started to explode. She would've liked to have reached before it happened, but holding the magic steady and stable was getting harder with each step she took and every second that passed. With a twitch of her fingers the small, spherical barriers she had placed in the food expanded.

A bowl of corn cobs blew outwards, followed by a cheese wheel and a plate of drumsticks. The surrounding Halflings were pelted with bits of food as dish after dish exploded and rained down on their heads. Everyone turned to look in time to see the last item, a large suckling pig, explode and shower the party with roasted meat.

Sol quickly ducked out of sight behind the barrels and set to work. From the belt on her skirt she pulled out several hidden vials, each containing a coloured, concentrated liquid.

She unstrapped one of her daggers and used it to pry the top of the barrels and emptied out the vials into them.

Some would make the Halflings violently ill, others would only make them sleep, a few would kill them outright. In the last she poured in a bright orange hallucinogenic, just to sow some chaos.

At the rate the Halflings were going, no one would guess that they were suffering from anything other than too much alcohol until it was too late.

The Halflings were still trying to figure out what had made the food spontaneously explode, and were eyeing the dishes that hadn't suspiciously. Sol was able to sneak out rather easily, the only hitch being a single Halfling guard who was silenced quickly, its corpse hidden under a bramble bush.

…

Within an hour the Halflings realized something was wrong. It was a little while later that the panic set in. When the majority of the Halflings were unconscious on the ground, throwing up and screaming in pain, seeing things or dead, the Overlord, his minions and Sol, now back in her armor, swept in and met little resistance.

Melvin, despite surely having had the most of just about everything, made a dash for the door of the largest building, well, at least as much of a dash as someone shaped like a giant sphere could manage.

"Looks like Melvin is making a run for it. Well, a waddle for it," Gnarl laughed.

The time it took for the group to put down the rest of the still standing Halflings allowed Melvin to escape into the building. Sol chased after him, but stopped in the first room, shocked. There was just _so much_ food. She had known the Halflings had been stealing food, but she had never realized just how much.

Large baskets of fruits and vegetables were stacked on shelves and crowded the floor space (many now crushed and knocked to the side from Melvin's recent passage). A giant grill made up the rest of the floor not occupied by baskets where whole pigs and cows roasted on spits tended by Halfling cooks well on their way to being Melvin sized.

The Overlord entered the room behind Sol, splattered with Halfling blood.

"The reds!" Gnarl exclaimed.

Sure enough in a cage connected to the area under the grill were the crimson skinned horned minions, their thin tails twitching back and forth with impatience.

"These Halflings must be using them to start the kitchen fires!"

"Bit of a waste, isn't it?" Sol remarked. "Kind of like using a claymore to slice bread."

Before the cooks could react to the sudden intrusion, browns surged forwards to turn the wheel next to the red's cage. The red minions ran out before the cage door was completely opened, laughing maniacally and summoning flames to scorch the cooks above.

Tortured screams filled the air and Sol gagged at the smell of burning flesh. The reds continued forwards under the grill before disappearing from sight under more solid flooring and left the room.

"Ha! Roasted in their own kitchen! There's something evilly poetic about that. We must find the red hive while we are here, Master," Gnarl said. "Those reds are no doubt on their way there now. Just follow the screams, Sire."

They left the room, mindful of the heated grill. Down a short hallway lined with even more baskets of food and into a large, circular room filled with wooden tables, chairs, and one heavily breathing Halfling hero. He laboriously turned around to see them, food dripping from his gaping mouth and brandishing his fork.

"I remember you," the Halfling said in a nasally voice, gesturing to Sol with his fork. "Melvin ain't so small now! Can't kick him around so easily anymore."

Melvin started towards Sol, waving his fork threateningly. Sol darted to the side, putting a table between her and Melvin.

"Uh, stay still little snack!"

Sol tried rushing forward to stab him with her staff, but only succeeded in making a gross squelching noise and annoying the Halfling. She tried hitting him with a propelled barrier, but that only caused his fat to jiggle in an extremely disturbing way. Melvin continued to follow her around the room, his face red with the effort of moving his own enormous bulk. Melvin completely ignored the Overlord, who was content to just watch as Gnarl laughed at the sight of Sol being chased around by an obese Halfling going on about how tasty she was going to be.

"Little help here?"

The Overlord gestured to Melvin and his minions ran forward. Melvin tried to fight them off with his fork, but lost his balance and fell forward to land heavily on two minions, crushing them both.

The Halfling's body rippled on impact, looking as if some creature was inside fighting to be free (ew), the fabric of his clothing straining to keep the fat contained (again, ew). Sol shuddered at the sight. This was something she would no doubt be describing to a therapist later on.

The Overlord calmly and confidently approached the fallen hero, raised his axe high and brought it down brought it down on Melvin's back. The blade bit deep, the Halfling shuddered, then his body exploded outwards, sickeningly similar to the suckling pig from earlier.

A sickly yellow goo, accumulated evil energy brought on by years of gluttony, burst out from Melvin's body and coated the room and its occupants.

On top of being downright disgusting, the damned stuff _burned_ like acid wherever it found its way through the cracks in Sol's armor and found skin. She tried to wipe it off, but, but only succeeded in spreading it around. She felt like she wanted to throw up.

The Overlord, however was completely unaffected, not even flinching when some landed in the gaps on his armor to land on bare skin. The minions were better than ok, actually _playing_ with the disgusting stuff, packing it into balls and throwing it at each other like snowballs.

"Ok, ew. That is unimaginably disgusting, so feel free to stop any time now."

The minions abrubtly stilled and all turned their heads to stare at Sol.

"Don't you dare-"

Sol ran from the room, yelling out a string of curses as globs of yellow goo pelted her back.

…

Spree rewarded them generously after all the food from the Halfling kitchen had been collected and, more importantly, the red hive and several other Tower objects had been recovered, evidence of Melvin's looting after the last Overlord's defeat. But all that was little comfort to Sol when no amount of scrubbing could remove the Melvin gunk smell from her armor.

On the bright side, a few more levels of the Tower had been cleared and Gnarl had no excuse not to give her a better room, this one with a lock to keep out any unwanted visitors. Of course, _someone_ had left an iron slave collar on the dresser, but that was quickly thrown out the window.

Sol carefully cleaned up her gear, packed herbs on her armor to hopefully draw out the smell, then headed off to bed.

…

It had to be a dream. What other explanation was there? But in a dream, everything was just accepted and nothing was questioned, so why was she having doubts? But why else would Sol be wandering the halls of the Tower at night, drawn by some unknown force if she wasn't dreaming?

Her bare feet slapped against cold stone floor. Cold. Could someone feel cold in a dream? She was wearing only the thin pair of trousers and shirt that she wore while sleeping, and she certainly felt cold.

She was in the throne room now. It was eerily silent at night, its only other occupant a brown minion who ran off when it caught sight of her.

Sol was only vaguely aware of all this. She was being pulled down, deeper into the Tower. Down the spiraling stairs to the minion burrows where the Tower Heart hung suspended, glowing softly.

Minion eyes watched silently as she was drawn towards the orb. In her trance she didn't even notice. The Heart filled her vision, obliterating all other thoughts with its siren call. It was just so… _beautiful_.

She reached out a hand, only to flinch back. It was like the Tower Heart was surrounded by a thick aura that burned when Sol come in contact with it.

_ …Like the evil energy earlier…_

She gritted her teeth and reached out once again. She met resistance that set her hand aflame with pain, but she pushed past it.

A part of her was being burned away by the Heart. She could feel it leaving her, and she felt as it she should be afraid, but she couldn't turn away. She was almost there, it was almost done, her fingers were almost brushing the Tower Heart…

"Sol?"

Gnarl's voice surprised her, breaking the trance. She snatched her hand back and looked about uncomprehendingly. What had just happened?

Sol's eyes landed on Gnarl standing with a minion she thought she had seen in the throne room.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked.

"I don't… I was… I have to go."

Sol hurried from the room and up the stairs while Gnarl looked on with a thoughtful expression on his face. It soon turned into an evil smile.

**Yes, I will be giving the Overlord an actual name next chapter. Any suggestions?**


	7. Sol and the History Lesson

**Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate them!**

Sleep was near impossible. What had just happened? Sol couldn't explain it and it left her with a bad feeling. Something was going on here, and she hated not knowing what. Did anyone know, or at least have a vague idea?

The Overlord was new, ignorant to too much. Gnarl, even if he could be persuaded to tell Sol, looked as surprised as she was at the Tower Heart, so he probably wouldn't know either. Minions, of course, didn't care about anything they couldn't smash or set on fire, so no help there. Unless…

Sol left her room at a brisk walk. There was only one other who would know anything of use.

The library was in surprisingly good shape, no debris or dust to be seen and the furniture was in pristine condition. The only evidence of the earlier looting was large gaps in the bookshelves where stolen or destroyed books once resided. The minion responsible for the library's restoration sat at a desk wearing a dark brown robe of rough fabric with his scythe leaning against his chair, carefully repairing and rebinding a pile of damaged books.

Mortis was… unusual. Sol did not think he was as closely tied to his hive as the other minions were, and could therefore stay behind when the others left. He had to be as old as Gnarl, if not older, his once pure blue skin bleached with age. His eyed were a cloudy white, lacking pupil and iris, yet despite his apparent blindness he could often be found with a book in hand, webbed fingers tracing the text as he read. Whenever asked he would cryptically state that there were more ways than one to see, delivered in that deep, watery voice of his which never ceased to creep Sol out.

Ironically enough, considering that the blues hated Sol more than any other minion tribe, Mortis never expressed any dislike for Sol, even at the very beginning. He never said much to her, but that was true for just about everyone and he didn't just answer her in frustrating riddles as often as he did with Gnarl.

"I need to know more about the Tower Heart," Sol said.

You had to be direct and blunt when dealing with Mortis. He wasn't one for idle chatter or wasting words. Try to skirt around an issue or walk him to it and he would only give you a cryptic, often meaningless response or ignore you completely.

Mortis didn't turn from his books. Sol knew that pushing got you nowhere with Mortis and several minutes passed as she watched him work, the only noise the faint rustling of paper, until he picked a slim book off the pile on his desk and handed it to Sol.

"Start at chapter seven," he said tersely and without explanation.

Sol thanked him and found a chair deeper in the library. She sat down and took a closer look at the book. It had a slate grey cover and Origins of the Cycle was written in flowing golden script.

She flipped it open to the inside cover. Runes of preservation were inscribed into all the books here to keep them safe from time's deteriorating touch. The magic only lasted for a set period of time, however, and a new one would have to be inscribed. The inside cover of this one was filled with the runes, taking up all available space. When she flipped to the back it was the same there. This book was unimaginably old.

Sol flipped through the book, careful not to tear any pages, until she found chapter seven.

_The war between the forces of Acherus and Arcturus stretched on, neither brother able to gain an advantage over the other. Their armies were equally numbered, their strongholds equally defended, their resources in equal supply. Years passed as battle after battle was fought with no end in sight._

_ Finally, driven by the need to save his men from the needless slaughter of war, Acherus challenged his brother to single combat that would decide the war once and for all. Driven by pride, Arcturus accepted._

_ Acherus wielded a massive war hammer and wore golden armor that shone like the sun while Arcturus fought with longsword and shield and wore armor as dark as shadows and seemed to absorb all light._

_ Just as their armies were evenly matched, so too were the brothers. The battle raged on, the sound of their weapons clashing sounding like claps of thunder and bolts of magic lit up the sky._

_ In an act of desperation, Arcturus sent out a blast of magic meant to destroy his opponent once and for all. Acherus' own magic raced out to meet it in a deadly explosion that turned night into day._

_ When the dust finally settled, Arcturus and Archerus were no more. In their place were the Hearts of Good and Evil, the raw power of the brothers having crystallized to form the two powerful relics._

That was… unexpected. Of course, time had a way of twisting the truth so all she had just read could've been lies and the product of superstitious minds. Still, the Heart of Evil sounded like it could be the Tower Heart, though Sol had never heard of anything like the Heart of Good. She continued to read.

_ With no clear winner, the war started up once again. The forces of Acherus recovered the Heart of Good and Acherus' son drew power from the Heart, becoming the first Hero. The forces of Arcturus recovered the Heart of Good and Arcturus' top general drew power from the Heart, becoming the first Overlord._

Again, unexpected, and it was certainly interesting. Sol had never found any history books telling of a time so far back. But this wasn't really what she was looking for. She needed to know more about the Tower Heart itself, not just its possible history.

Sol read on. The book spoke of how with their leaders gone, the generals relied on the power form the Hearts to fight each other, but once again neither could outmatch the other. This went on until Reinhart, a follower of the Hero, decided that the only way to defeat the Overlord was to destroy the Heart of Evil.

_And so Reinhart, sure of his mission, disguised himself as a servant of the Overlord and snuck into his stronghold. When he reached the Heart-_

The passage abruptly ended, jagged edges signaling where the pages had been torn out.

While the Overlord may command the Tower, the library was undisputedly Mortis', and he ran it like his own private kingdom. If anyone dared damage one of his books, he would flay them alive with that scythe of his.

Sol skipped past the missing pages and finished the rest of the chapter. Her brow furrowed in confusion. A lot must have happened in those missing pages because she was now completely lost without them.

_-With the Heart of Good lost and the Hero dead, the Overlord easily stomped out any remaining resistance. He ruled uncontested for many years before eventually being killed by his own daughter, who then took the throne and the title of Overlord for herself._

_She ruled without pity or mercy, taxing her people into poverty so that she could live in luxury. This caused a group of rebels to rise up with the intention of ending the crushing hold she kept on her empire. The people hailed them as heroes in remembrance of Acherus' son, who had given his life in the fight against evil._

The chapter ended. Sol skimmed through the first few page of the next, which told of how the Heart of Evil was repeatedly lost and found again by Overlords who would conquer the land before eventually being defeated by heroes, over and over again in one great, unending cycle. Nothing more about the Heart, however.

She brought the book back to Mortis.

"What happened to the missing pages?" she asked the blue minion.

He looked up at her with sightless eyes.

"They were taken." he answered.

One of the most annoying things about Mortis: he never elaborated and you had to ask question after question to get anything out of him.

"By who?"

"The Overlord."

Sol paused for a moment.

"The current one or the dead one?"

"The one that no longer resides here."

"So the dead one, then."

"The one that no longer resides here," he repeated slowly, as if wanting her to understand some hidden meaning but unable to say it outright.

"… Ok. Any idea where I could find them, or could you tell me what was written on them?"

Mortis didn't answer and went back to his work. He was done talking and no amount of pushing would get him to speak. With an exasperated sigh, Sol turned to leave. Halfway to the door, she heard Mortis speak form behind her.

"Search hard for the truth, Sol. The past often becomes the future."

…

"You've got to wonder why someone would build a castle in the middle of nowhere," Sol muttered. "It's not like a place as small as Spree would need much governing. And why attack it? It doesn't hold much strategic value."

_Unless they plan to attack the Tower,_ the Overlord observed.

That was true. Someone could have taken Castle Spree in order to have a defendable location to consolidate troops before marching against the Tower. That was why they were marching down the road with fifteen minions, eight browns and seven reds in tow, after encountering a villager raving about demons appearing from the air and some Lady up at the castle.

"Yes, but who'd have heard of us by this point? All we've done so far is kill some Halflings for a nowhere hamlet. I suppose heroes could've been keeping an eye on the Tower in case an Overlord was named, but killing defenseless villagers isn't usually how they go about things."

"You sound nervous, Sol. Scared of what you might find at the Castle? Do you need someone to hold your hand?" Gnarl taunted.

"Says the one hiding back at the Tower."

The Overlord gave her a sidelong look and Sol bit back any further insults.

"I'm not saying I'm scared. I'm saying that there's more going on here than we think. Making assumptions can get you killed, and I don't think the castle was attacked because if us. Maybe that Lady the peasant mentioned could shed some light on what's going on."

_Unless she's the one behind the attack._

"Possible, but I doubt she would have told that man to run if she was."

They continued on, and soon they saw thick, black smoke clouding the sky in the distance. Castle Spree was on fire, its walls torn down in parts and the corpses of castle staff that attempted to flee were scattered around the grounds.

"A thousand Halflings couldn't do this much damage," Gnarl said. "I smell magic in the air. That's never a good smell, Sire."

They approached the castle gate cautiously. The ropes holding up the draw bridge had been cut and the portcullis was a wreck of mangled metal, allowing easy access.

The group entered the courtyard where piles of burning debris littered the ground.

"Look out!" Sol cried and threw up a hasty barrier.

The Overlord whipped around in time to see three black clad figures jump down from the castle wall with swords drawn. Their descent was abruptly stopped when they crashed into the barrier. Sol's knees buckled under the sudden pressure. The barrier shattered under the strain and the attackers fell to the ground like discarded bags of flour instead of the graceful drop they had intended, one even managing to impale himself on his own sword.

A volley of fireballs from the reds set the remaining two aflame, leaving them easy prey for the browns to finish them off.

"They were most definitely not locals," Gnarl said.

"Very astute," Sol muttered. "This lot were most likely sentries. There will be more inside, but from the look of things the main force that took this castle has already left, which is a plus. All that's left will either be stragglers set on looting, or a clean up crew."

_With all the fire, will the castle be stable, or should we worry that the ceiling will come crashing down on our heads?_

"It should be fine. All of these," Sol gestured around to the her to the towers that made up the corners of the castle walls and the secondary buildings, "are relatively new, added on later. They just have stone exteriors with wooden floors and such on the inside, no doubt completely gutted by now. But this," she gestured to the main building in front of her, "is older, the original keep. It'll be stone all the way through, so it won't burn."

"How do you know all this?" Gnarl asked in disbelief.

"I'm not as stupid as you think. Well, that and I may have passed through here once a while back."

"And you didn't think to mention it earlier?"

"It's irrelevant. I barely got through the front door before they kicked me out. Apparently, I'm 'volatile and untrustworthy'. Punching out the steward probably didn't help in that regard, though in my defense, he had it coming."

It was stifling hot inside and Sol quickly broke out in a sweat. The air so far at least was mostly clear of smoke and safe to breathe.

"So where do you think we should-"

"My Lady, please hurry. They're coming!" a voice called out from somewhere up ahead, cutting Sol off.

"Stay back. These people are no threat to you. Put that down!"

A woman's voice this time, sounding like an adult chastising a disobedient child. The Overlord followed the voice, Sol right behind him.

"Ok… let's just… run!"

The Overlord entered the room at the same time as a group of villagers led by a red haired woman in a fine dress of red and white.

"Quick! The store room!" she ordered and led the group into a small side room filled with barrels and empty shelves.

"That was horrible!" one of them exclaimed.

"Unless you want the 'horrible' following us in here, I suggest you shut the door."

A lever was pulled and an iron grate fell across the room's entrance just as a small group of the same black clad figures they had seen outside charged into the room.

The Overlord reacted instantly. Reds fanned out across the room to catch the attackers in a crossfire while their master ran in with the browns.

Sol thought she finally understood how the Overlord commanded his minions so effectively. It was telepathy. No, not the same as he used to talk with Sol or Gnarl, but more like a feeling or intention he sent out without the use of words that the minions picked up on. The pointing and gestures he sometimes used were just habits, like emphasizing with your hands when you talk. It allowed the minions to react to his orders even when their view of him was blocked, and at the same time enemies couldn't overhear commands and prepare for them. Sol could almost hear it, like a buzzing in the back of her mind. Why could she pick up on it now, but not earlier? Was repeated conversations with the Overlord making her more sensitive? Or was it something else entirely? Yet another thing she'd have to look into.

The attackers were expected unarmed villagers, not the Overlord and his bloodthirsty minions. Brutally and efficiently, they were torn apart.

"Your little creatures are just darlings aren't they!" the Lady cooed.

"This ordeal must have gotten to you," Sol snorted. "Minions are many things, but 'darlings' isn't one of them."

The woman's eyes landed on Sol and her expression darkened.

"If it isn't the Shadow of the Overlord. I've heard of you, but I was lead to believe you were dead."

"Sorry to disappoint, though that's a nickname I haven't heard before. I've always gone by Sol."

"I'm Rose," she said, turning to the Overlord. "And who might you be?"

_Tell her I'm… Kaern, _he told Sol, sounding as if he had just invented the name on the spot.

"No need. I can here you just fine," Rose informed him.

The Overlord, now Kaern, seemed surprised.

_You are only the third I've met who could hear me._

"I'm special," Rose said without any arrogance, merely stating a fact.

The villagers locked in the room with Rose looked at her as if she had gone mad, only hearing half of the conversation.

"Well, it seems like you can handle yourselves. Interested in a job? Have you heard of the Heaven's Peak plague? It's nasty, very nasty. I came here to see if this place could shelter the poor lumps who aren't infected… yet. I need to get out here, but I can't leave with those raiders everywhere, and I need my luggage. Could you deal with them and get it for me?"

"Whoa, hold on a minute," Sol said. "You want us to delve into a burning castle infested with raiders to get your luggage? I was right the first time. You've gone completely nuts."

"I've been working on a cure for the plague and all my notes and equipment are with the rest of my things. If that plague gets out of Heaven's Peak, things will get very disorganized. And I hate that!"

Her voice filled with venom during the last bit. So not only was she a spoiled noble who expected everyone to jump whenever she snapped her fingers, she also had a serious case of OCD.

"So if you don't want your skin to rot and drop off, I suggest you find my luggage!" Rose seemed to realize she was asking for a favor and not ordering servants about, and added in a much less demanding tone, "Mmm… please?"

_We'll find it._

"What?!"

Sol whirled around to face the Overlord. Even with his face concealed behind a helmet she could read him like a book. He was giving Rose puppy dog eyes, lust at first sight as it were.

_You have got to be kidding me. They haven't even known each other for five minutes and already Rose has him wrapped around her little finger, _Sol thought.

Sol was ordered to stand guard over the store room while Kaern went off to find Rose's luggage. The almighty Overlord, a bastion of evil with countless minions willing to die on his command, feared by all, was now at the beck and call of some pretty face. Sol wasn't sure if that was funny or just plain sad.

She waited, arms crossed with her back leaning against a wall. The villagers whispered nervously amongst themselves while Rose stared at Sol, sizing her up. Sol ignored them all.

The sound of feet pounding against stone floor approached the room. Sol straightened as three raiders charged into the room. Two fell almost instantly with small throwing knives embedded in their necks. The third closed the distance between himself and Sol before she could throw another, unfazed by the deaths of his comrades.

The raider's sword was deflected with a raised dagger, and Sol kicked him back to buy herself enough time to draw her second blade before he came in for a second attack.

The peasants in the store room were freaking out in hysterics. She thought she heard Rose trying to calm them, but Sol tried to block them all out and focus on her opponent.

Since this one was not currently on fire or being torn apart by minions, Sol finally got a good look. The raider wore loose black clothing under sturdier steel plates that protested the chest, upper and lower arms and a metal skirt protected the upper legs. It offered him limited protection but also wouldn't impede movement. What really irked Sol, however, was the wrapped black cloth that concealed his face.

"Now that is just blatant copying," Sol said as she blocked and deflected his attacks with her daggers, focusing more on defense than offense. "Though I'm not stupid enough to leave the ends free and loose. Anyone could just do this…"

The raider lunged forwards for a stabbing strike meant to finish Sol off, but she easily side stepped the attack. It left him unbalanced, giving Sol the opportunity to reach over and grab the long, free hanging edges of the cloth and pull, jerking his head back and exposing his throat for a quick slice from a dagger that ended the fight.

"Impressive," Rose remarked.

"Not really," Sol shrugged. "He was overeager and made an amateur move, easy to exploit."

"Hmm… you're not what I expected."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I'm not sure."

"So a bad thing, then. Thanks."

The minions returned then, hefting a pile of bags and trunks taller than the Overlord, all lashed together with ropes and a chair peeking out at the top.

"My luggage! You and your little Cherubs found it!" Rose exclaimed.

"_That's_ your luggage?"

"Yes. I was in a bit of a hurry when I left and had to pack light," Rose said as she opened the grate and left the store room to stand by Kaern. "You've surprised me. I thought you were just the usual run-of-the-mill dungeon fodder!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Sol muttered.

"Someone like you could use someone like me. Let's go!" Rose declared as she started towards the castle's exit, not even looking back to see it they were following.

Sol expected some sort of snide comment about her presumptuous attitude, if not from the Overlord, the one who was supposed to do all the ordering, then surely from Gnarl who had an opinion about everything, but he remained silent and Kaern followed behind Rose looking like a lost puppy.

It would be interesting to see how all of this would play out.

**I was thinking of making the next chapter from Rose's pov, if just to more easily establish her character. Any thoughts?**


	8. Rose and the Reflection

Nothing was as Rose expected. The people, the minions, the Tower itself, all were different from what she was led to believe. This was bad, not because it was all worst than expected (if anything, the differences would have been welcome in any other situation), but because it completely ruined her well detailed plan. She would have to improvise, but that meant things could get very disorganized. Rose _hated_ that.

The Tower, for instance, was an absolute mess. Rose knew it had been recently destroyed, but that was no excuse for bad housekeeping. Dust everywhere! Maddening! She had spent the entire first day cleaning up the private quarters and finding suitable furniture.

The minions, at least, were something she was glad she was wrong about. They weren't horrible demons like the stories said. They were adorable, her little Cherubs! She had to be careful, though, that the little dears didn't eat any of her things by mistake and get a tummy ache. Gnarl, however, she did not like, though she hid it well. He was smart, cunning, and far too shifty. He could be a threat and Rose would have to watch him.

Sol had been the biggest shock. From the stories and accounts Rose had heard, she had expected a ruthless killer without conscience, fiercely loyal to the Overlord and able to meld with shadows to slip by unseen or charge through an enemy encampment, propelled by a wave of blood and death. Be it through stealth or direct battle, Sol would tear down any obstacle set before her without hesitation or moral conflict. What Rose had found instead was a smart mouthed, reckless girl with all the maturity of a five year old. She was constantly bickering with Gnarl (though that stopped whenever Kaern came near), didn't seem concerned about anything and acted as if everything was part of some private joke that only she was in on. Sol only seemed to care about herself, but at the same time wasn't vain or arrogant.

Was it all an act? Was everything Rose had heard just grossly exaggerated? Sol wouldn't have been kept around if she was without power or skill. She was too unpredictable, her motivations unknown, so Rose would have to be careful until she figured Sol out. This "Shadow of the Overlord" could be a powerful ally, a dangerous enemy, or a simple fool with an obscene amount of luck. Rose had tried to search her room for any further clues as to who she was, but the place was an absolute mess! Bed unmade, weapons left laying about, clothes stuffed in and leaking out of the dresser, books dropped in haphazard piles, no attempt at order whatsoever! It had taken all her self-control and willpower not to tidy up just a little. Rose couldn't find anything amidst the mess and settled for scribbling down the tittles of the books and leaving before she was overcome by the need to dust. When she had checked on the titles later, they were histories, mostly about someone named Arcturus, though for many of the books she could find no reference to them anywhere, and therefore had no idea what they were about.

And then there was Kaern, the Overlord himself. For a bastion of evil he was surprisingly quick to trust. He had a certain… lost air about him. And then Gnarl had explained it to her and it all clicked into place. Kaern had no memory of his life before the Tower. He was just woken up one day, thrown into some armor and told he was the Overlord. This made him malleable, easy to manipulate, which brought Rose to a disturbing conclusion: someone was trying to use him as a puppet. They threw power into his hands because they could not wield it openly themselves, but who?

Rose couldn't know for sure, but it was most likely either Sol or Gnarl. Sol didn't seem the type to come up with such a plan, but for any lack of intelligence, but because she was a more straight forward person without the patience for a subtle plot like this. But as a minion bound into his service with unimaginably ancient magic, would Gnarl even be able to control his Overlord in such a way?

Whatever the case, it made getting close to him even more important. Being his mistress should make it easier, but it would still be difficult until she figured out the type of person he was. Since Kaern himself didn't even know, that could take awhile.

Her father was counting on Rose to keep an eye on the Overlord and she would not fail, ruined plans or no. She would prove to him just how capable she was, much more deserving of his trust than Velvet ever would be.

Rose thought on all this as she descended the spiraling staircase down to the throne room. She wanted to check if Kaern was back yet, or if he and Sol were still in Spree. When she got there, however, she noticed a commotion down one of the hallways.

Minions were crowded around a doorway, pushing and shoving to get a better look at what was inside. They laughed with glee, especially the reds, between shouts of "Burn! Burn!" and "Smash! Yes, smash!".

"Now what has my little Cherubs all worked up?" Rose asked as she pushed her way inside.

The minions, including Gnarl, were clustered around the raised pool magically connected to the Overlord's helmet. Gnarl had explained that it allowed him to hear and see what the Overlord did, and also communicate over long distances. He had also mentioned, with some annoyance, that Sol had found a way to link into the connection to a limited degree so that she could communicate as well, though it only worked if she remained close to the Overlord's helmet since it basically piggybacked on its magic.

Rose looked into the pool and gasped in shock.

Spree was burning, the panicked screams of villagers rising from the pool. Suddenly the image whirled around to show Sol, her hands scrabbling uselessly against the Overlord's steeled gauntlet wrapped tight around her throat as he crushed the life from her.

"That meddler's finally going to get what's coming to her!" Gnarl cried with immense satisfaction.


	9. Kaern and the Broken Glass

**Since Rose's chapter was so short, I decided to post this one at the same time. They were originally the same chapter, but I split them into two because of the different perspectives.**

Rage, white hot and blinding anger that consumed all reasoning and thought. It had started building when the gates first slammed shut, sealing Kaern, Sol and the minions outside of Spree when a group of Halflings showed up, no doubt looking for revenge for their recently destroyed village.

Kaern had heard of a smelter just outside of Spree, which was why he was there in the first place. He had wanted to bring it back to the Tower and make some better equipment, perhaps a new weapon. His axe was sturdy enough, adequately made, but it didn't feel right in his hands. Perhaps a sword would be better, though that hardly mattered at the moment.

His anger only mounted when the last of the Halflings in front of the gate were cut down and still the villagers refused to open the gate.

"There could still be some lurkin' 'bout, waitin' for us to let our guard down!" One had said.

Stupid, ungrateful peasants! He was the Overlord! How dare they ignore his commands to open the gate, after all he had done! He had tried to win their love and gratitude, but fear would have to do.

He felt a faint tingling sensation in his hands as he summoned his magic and threw a fireball directly at the gate.

"Holy shit!" Sol yelped in surprise, not expecting his reaction.

The gate shook at the force of the blast and the dry, wooden planks burst into flames. The villagers on the other side started to panic, but Kaern didn't let up. Fireball after fireball hit the weakening gate, the red minions joining in, before the weakened gate crumbled in a shower of flaming splinters. Kaern stepped through the destroyed gate.

The villagers were screaming, swarming about in a panicked mass. Kaern felt only disgust when he looked at them. They were weak and cowardly. Why had he ever decided to help them?

He shot fireball indiscriminately into the surrounding buildings and brought his axe down on any who got too close. In his rage-filled haze he was dimly aware that his minions had joined in on the destruction. Yes, _his _minions. _He _was the Overlord, _he _held all the power, and all would follow _his _word or be crushed.

"Um, lord Kaern, not to interrupt your whole evil Overlord destruction moment, but razing Spree will only hurt us, so in the long run it might be better to tone it down a bit-"

Kaern whipped around to silence the speaker. His hand tightened around Sol's throat. There was a small voice in the back of his mind that insisted she was not an enemy, she was useful and skilled. That voice, however, was quashed by a much louder one screaming that she couldn't be trusted and should be punished for her insolence.

Kaern looked around at the burning village around him as Sol struggled in vain against his grip. He turned back to look at her and felt a bit of surprise amid the anger when he saw a mixture of pain and annoyance in Sol's eyes, but no fear.

"That meddler's finally going to get what's coming to her!" Gnarl cried with immense satisfaction.

Why was she not afraid? Did she not believe that he would truly kill her? Or did she simply not care?

"Let Sol go this instant!"

Rose's voice broke through the rage and shocked Kaern into releasing Sol. She fell to the ground, gasping for breath and rubbing and rubbing her bruised throat.

Kaern looked around at the burning building and the corpses in the street. The anger was gone and only a fierce frustration remained. Had he done something wrong to cause the people of Spree to abandon him at the first sign of trouble, or were his attempts doomed from the start?

Kaern ordered his minions to retrieve the smelter and trekked back to the Tower Gate.

…

Kaern ignored everyone when he returned to the Tower and stalked off directly to the private quarters. He dropped his axe on the ground and pulled off his helmet.

He always wore his full armor everywhere, even around the Tower. Only in privacy did he ever take it off, though he preferred to keep it on. The armor gave him a much needed identity. It was a symbol, and when he wore it he could say with absolute certainty that he was the Overlord, one of the few things he could claim about himself and be sure it was true.

He paced the floor of his bedroom. What should be done about Spree? Could anything be done to salvage the situation?

Kaern angrily slammed his hands down on the dresser. It was made of white wood, polished to a shine, chosen by Rose. She had gone on a decorating rampage when she arrived at the Tower, decking out the private quarters in red and white. Rose always seemed to know what she was doing. Maybe she could help.

Kaern looked up into the mirror hanging above the dresser, another thing Rose had chosen. Whatever had happened before he lost hi memory had left him weak. Though he had gotten stronger he still didn't look completely healthy or recovered. Amber eyes, glowing strongly, stared back at him on a thin, gaunt face, his ebony hair making his skin look even paler than it was. It was the face of a stranger. He felt no connection whatsoever to it, no sudden sense of "that's me".

He balled his hand into a fist and smashed it into the mirror. The glass shattered and rained down onto the dresser and floor.

"Now that was hardly necessary. If you didn't like the mirror you could've just taken it down. No need to make a mess."

Kaern looked over at Rose as she walked into the room. Only she ever spoke to him in such a way. Gnarl was all transparent flattery and empty praises, a sycophant to the core. Sol wasn't nearly as bad, but it was only Rose who spoke in such a direct and unreserved fashion. Kaern wasn't sure if he had made her his mistress because or in spite of this.

"Men. Can't destroy anything without making a mess," Rose said as she started to clear up the shards of glass. "Like that business down in Spree. You couldn't just make an example out of some, no, you had to burn down half the village. Now things are going to get disorganized."

_…What?_

"They needed to be disciplined, no question about that. Chains if command exist for a reason. They keep things clear, clean, organized. Then they went and muddied it all up by not listening to you and what happened as a result? Chaos erupted. But did you really have to add on to it like that? A few executions would've made your point without the unneeded mess."

Rose finished sweeping up the glass into a single pile.

"Now, speaking of chaos," Rose continued, switching topics without giving Kaern time to respond. "I do believe I've come up with a way to help combat the Heaven's Peak plague. It won't help those already infected, but it should keep those who aren't infected healthy. I just need you to find some rather hard to find ingredients. Evernight would be a good place to start."

As Rose scribbled down a list of ingredients on a scrap of paper, Kaern couldn't help but think he had just nearly completely destroyed a village for refusing to open a gate, yet he let this woman order him about, which he didn't think was proper Overlord behavior. Yet he couldn't bring himself to refuse. Rose managed to both baffle and amuse him at the same time, and gave him a feeling that he had no name for that made him both happy and terrified.

Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be with mistresses. Kaern wasn't sure, but since being the Overlord was all that he had then he should be sure that he was doing it right.


	10. Sol and the Not-So-Enchanted Forest

**No response for my last chapters. Am I to assume that means they sucked? Just wondering.**

Sol's throat hurt. Correction. Sol's throat hurt _a lot_. Not that anyone else cared.

It probably wasn't the smartest decision to return to the Tower after its owner almost killed her just a few hours earlier, but since when had that ever stopped her before? She wasn't exactly known for making rational choices. And so she sat alone in one of the many sitting rooms Rose had set up around the Tower (Rose had called them parlours, but really, how many could any one place possibly need?). It definitely wasn't her first choice in places to sulk, but it was either this, one of the dirty rooms no one had gotten around to cleaning up, or her own room, but she got the distinct feeling of being a petulant child hiding out there.

Despite what one would think, at that moment Sol was feeling nothing but annoyance directed solely at herself. Firstly, she had been slow and let herself be taken by surprise. She should have been quicker and kept herself ready for anything. Instead, she had let herself be caught in the Overlord's grip far too easily. Secondly, she had done nothing to free herself. Her daggers had been in easy reach, magic always readily available, and yet she had acted as if completely helpless. It wasn't even as if she had been paralyzed in shock or fear. She distinctly remembered mentally shouting at herself to do something, _anything_, but for some unknown reason or another just couldn't. She had almost died as a result, and only Rose's timely intervention had saved her (which raised the question of just how much influence she had on the Overlord, but that was a worry for another time).

Sol lightly touched the bruises circling her throat and felt another surge of annoyance and frustration. She had been training her magic for virtually her whole life (quite a considerably long time, despite what appearances might suggest) yet healing a simple bruise was beyond her abilities. Healing had always been the territory of the Followers of Jezzin, never the Wanderers of Sithian, but it still irked her.

Light footfalls in the doorway. Sol looked over to see Rose enter the room. She didn't say anything, just walked over, placed two fingers beneath Sol's chin and tilted it upwards to expose her bruised throat.

"Um, what are you doing?" Sol asked, not quite sure how she should react.

"These don't look too bad. Sol stop your moping and come with me."

"I'm _not_ moping," Sol defended. "When I mope, there is _a lot_ more alcohol involved. This is me sulking."

"What's the difference?"

"I can't find any alcohol."

Rose gave her an odd look.

"Well that is hardly important. Now come on."

"But I don't want to."

Rose crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. Sol just grinned back.

"Stop acting like a child and move."

"But annoying you is so much more amusing. Also, no."

Rose grabbed her by the ear and yanked her up out of her chair.

"Ow!" Sol complained as she let herself be dragged from the room.

Rose released her in the hallway.

"Now go! To the Throne Room!"

"Yes, ma'am. And really, there's no need to shout. I am standing right next to you."

Sol left down the hall before she could respond. Again, it probably wasn't the smartest decision to annoy one of the only people who hadn't tried to kill her at some point, but she couldn't help herself. Control freaks and perfectionists like Rose were just too easy of targets.

Sol entered the Throne Room with Rose close behind her. The room was completely repaired by then with high, vaulted ceilings, the walls covered with rich tapestries of red and gold which matched the long carpet that ran along the marble floors to the large, decoratively carved throne. The room was still rather bare, but considering the decorative streak Rose was on that wouldn't last long. Gnarl was already there with a smug smile on his wrinkled face.

"I must say, I expected you to tuck tail and run after that little… incident. I don't know whether your brave or just stupid. Though the latter seems most likely."

"Its called being staunch and dependable. I don't run at the first sign of trouble. You should try it sometime."

"If I recall correctly, it was me who stayed to rebuild the Tower and find the next Overlord while you ran off to get drunk at the nearest tavern. Very 'staunch and dependable' of you."

"You forgot to mention the part where you hid, cowering in the corner when the heroes showed up."

"Both of you, settle down," Rose interrupted. "The pair of you, arguing like children. And to think, people live in fear of the Overlord's forces."

"He started it."

"Well I'm ending it. Now, Sol, you stand over there and Gnarl, you wait over there while I get Kaern. I better not hear a word out of either of you."

"Of course, Mistress. Very prudent of you."

"Suck up."

"Sol!"

"What? It's true. No offense, but sending people to stand in opposite corners isn't that great or original of an idea."

"Are you trying to be difficult?"

"No. It just comes naturally."

Rose made a sound of exasperation and stomped up the stairs.

"Making friends all over, hmm?"

"It's the eyes. People can't resist weird looking things."

"People must be drawn to you like flies to honey, then."

"Says the walking walnut with ears."

"Why couldn't he have just killed you?"

"Cause I'm too cute and fluffy to die."

Gnarl made a disgusted sound and turned away. Sol smirked as they waited in silence.

The armored form of Kaern arrived descending the staircase. When he reached the bottom, his eyes landed briefly on the bruises covering Sol's neck, but he just brushed by her towards the Tower Portal.

_We must go._

"Where?" Sol asked, falling into step behind him.

_Evernight Forest._

"Uplifting name. What do we need there?"

_There are rare ingredients found there that Rose needs. She gave me a list-_

"Whoa, hold on a second," Sol said, stopping suddenly. "Let me get this straight. The great and powerful Overlord is being sent to fetch the groceries?"

_She needs them to defend against the plague. What of it?_

"Oh, nothing."

Sol could barely contain her laughter. He was _so_ whipped.

Sol hadn't taken off her gear since she had returned to the Tower earlier and was all set to go. She wrapped the black cloth around her face and stepped through the portal.

Smoke still drifted up from Spree, but it looked like all the fires had been put out. They had to pass close to the village to get to the path leading to Evernight. Any villagers who caught sight of them and the minion horde fled, scream "He's going to smite! He's going to smite!" Kaern pointedly ignored them all.

The path to Evernight was narrow and overgrown, almost nonexistent in places. Large trees loomed overhead to block out the sun and their roots, gnarled and twisted, snaked along the ground. The whole place felt wrong and a malevolent air hung about the place. It wasn't what Sol would've expected from Elven territory, and Gnarl seemed to share the sentiment.

"Evernight Forest was once filled with Elven magic. Creature and plant existed harmoniously amid leafy-canopies and sun-dappled pools," he spat with contempt. "Now it is dank, dark, corrupted… Ooh, I like what they've done with the place!"

"But what could've caused this?" Sol asked. "Anyone else get the feeling that something nasty is going to jump out at us?"

_Be on your guard._

They continued on until they found an old Tower Gate. They would have missed it altogether had it not reacted to the Overlord's presence. The stone circle at its center broke through the covering of moss and roots and glowed a reddish orange. Upon closer inspection, the semi-circle of stone pillars revealed themselves amid the foliage, hidden by leaves and vines as the forest tried to reclaim the small, open space.

'_Who trespasses on this once verdant soil?'_

The voice, broken and distorted, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Then, Sol realized it wasn't a true voice at all. She spun around, only to yelp and jump back in shock at the sight of the two semi-transparent, blue Elven ghosts. She heard Gnarl snigger as they regarded the group with cold, dead eyes.

'_What creatures has the dreaming brought forth?' _the dead Elf spoke in their minds.

'_Alas, Oberon is truly sickened!'_

"Ok, one, I'm offended by that, and two, what the hell are you talking about? And what's this about Oberon? Do you mean the Elven hero who shot-… who assaulted the Dark Tower?"

'_Yes, Oberon Greenhaze once traveled the lands, vanquishing great evils. But when last her returned, our great hero lost his taste for battle. When the Dwarven invaders came, he would not fight.'_

'_Oberon's blade became dull, his bow-string brittle, and he would not wake from his slumber,' _said the second ghost. _'__Around him grew a great tree, swaddling him in its branches. Then the Dreaming came. Oberon gave form to his blackest dreams. They drove out the invaders, and taint this forest still.'_

'_It must prove it is not a manifestation made flesh!' _the first declared. _'__If you are of the earth and not of the mind, seek out the one-horned beasts.'_

As the ghosts rambled on about corrupted unicorns or some such, Sol cast a sidelong look at Kaern, who gave her a barely perceptible nod. Sol jumped forwards.

Ghosts are beings made entirely of magical energy absorbed from their surroundings, hence the cold feeling one gets in their presence. If there was one thing Wanderers excelled at, it was the manipulation of energy in all its forms. When Sol touched the Elven ghost she reversed the process. The ghost was sent into a state of nonexistence as all the energy that sustained it was dispersed back into their surroundings, though Sol took most of it herself. She took the sudden boost of power and forced it into the second ghost. It was unable to handle all that extra energy and burst outwards in a pulse of magic.

"Bloody Elves. They think they're so superior and are always trying to command the other races. Even death doesn't shut them up. And what's this about Dwarven invaders? Elves and Dwarves have been enemies for, well, ever, but Oberon and Goldo, the Dwarven leader, managed to forge a peace between the two races. Well, hopefully the Elves were at least able to whittle the Dwarves down a bit. Their numbers might be thinned enough that they won't be able to repel an attack, say from an Overlord and his horde of minions?"

"No doubt the Dwarf domain is bloated with the spoils of war," Gnarl added. "We must find a way through, Lord. They must have entered this forest from somewhere, and their path should lead us straight to their land."

They followed the path, which soon opened up into a large clearing criss-crossed with giant roots thicker than Sol was tall. They led to a massive tree at the edge of the clearing protected by a large, translucent barrier. Sol felt a twinge in her shoulder when she saw the figure trapped in the tree, his sleeping face grimacing at some nightmare. The memory of his arrow punching through her armor, the pain she had felt, was still fresh in Sol's mind.

"Now I'm just going to go out on a limb and assume those roots are powering the barrier some how," Sol said.

_What makes you say that?_

"Because its _Elf _magic, intentional or not. When doesn't it involve plant power? And that glowing root-node thing over there is a bit of a tip off."

Not far from where the group stood, one of the roots connected to a large, spherical node that emitted a whitish light as it pulsed and throbbed. Sol walked over and plunged the blade of her staff in deep. The node burst apart, spraying out a thick, sap-like substance as the connected root twisted and shriveled up. The tree quivered slightly and the barrier dulled but remained strong.

"I don't suppose we could just chop up the roots here?"

They tried, but their weapons bounced harmlessly off the roots without making a scratch. The red minions tried setting them on fire, but other than some minor scorch marks it did nothing. They had no other choice but to look for the other nodes if they wanted to get at Oberon.

Kaern choose a path at random and they left the clearing. The trail sloped downwards into a swampy area and they had to pick their way through carefully.

"Damned freakin' mosquitoes!" Sol snarled. She was continuously slapping them off her exposed hands, at least when they weren't trying to dive-bomb her eyes. She seemed to be the only one they went for as they stayed well away from Kaern and the minions.

"Do stop your complaining," Gnarl said. "They're just insects."

"Insects that are eating me alive! Why are they only attacking me?"

"Its one of the perks of being creatures of evil. Nature likes to keep its distance."

Sol grumbled some more, but stopped when she caught sight of something on the far side of the swamp, separated from them by large pools of murky water. She squinted her eyes, not quite sure if she was seeing correctly.

"Aren't those green minions?" Sol asked, pointing across the water.

Kaern turned to look. Small, green shapes could be seen, but they weren't close enough to be sure.

_Do you see a way across?_

"Sithian knows what's lurking about in that water, but see those roots and trees sticking out of the water? I could climb my way across on those, but I don't know about you."

_Then you can go across and find the green hive while I find the nodes._

"Hold on. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but minions aren't all that fond of me. Without you to keep them in line, they'd probably rip me to pieces."

"Come now, Sol. Sire has given you your orders. Besides, the greens don't hate you nearly as much as everyone else."

"You're only saying that because you want me dead!"

_Enough!_

Kaern grabbed a red minion and practically shoved it at Sol.

_You will go with her and ensure the greens know Sol speaks with my authority. Find the green hive and get it to the Tower Gate._

And so it was that Sol ended up walking across roots, climbing up trees, and balancing precariously on branches with a red minion in the bag on her back, cursing and muttering about how this was a terrible idea all the while.


	11. Rhaeg and the Paradigm Shift

Rhaeg waited with his brothers. He had seen a figure making its way across the swamp, and soon recognized it as the Not-Slave-Not-Mistress-Not-Minion. Why had it come here? It was not wanted.

And so Rhaeg and his brothers had scattered and hidden, waiting for the Not-Slave to arrive and spring the trap.

It jumped across from a root to the land, boots sinking into grass and mud with a squelch. It looked around cautiously, obviously on guard. Rhaeg had forgotten how good the Not-Slave's instincts were. Almost as good as a green's.

It took a few wary steps forward but stopped just short of the ambush spot.

"I know you're here. The smell kind of gives you away. Why don't you just come out?"

Rhaeg growled softly in frustration. Not-Slave wasn't going to walk any further into the ambush, so he dropped down from the branch in which he hid to land in front of the Not-Slave. It yelped and fell back as Rhaeg launched itself at it, soon joined by his brothers.

The green minion tried to slash, but the rusted blades attached to his hands were deflected an inch away from the target. Not-Slave's hands were splayed palm outwards and sparks jumped from finger to finger as it held a barrier in place. Rhaeg hissed and struck again.

"Whoa! Simmer down! I'm on your side!"

Rhaeg growled again but stopped the attack. His brothers clustered around him and watched the Not-Slave with predatory eyes. They waited for it to put its guard down, but the barrier was sustained the whole time it talked.

"Now, since you probably won't believe anything I say, or you would more likely just not care, I'm going to let him do the talking."

Still holding up the barrier, it slung its pack from its shoulder, and a red-not-green minion jumped out.

What was this? Red-not-greens hated the Not-Slave more than the brown-not-greens and a lot more than greens, but yet he traveled with it?

Then it was all made clear. The greens chattered excitedly amongst themselves, their joy of having a new Overlord overshadowed their dislike of the Not-Slave.

"So are we all good then? 'Cause I've had enough supposed allies try to kill me today. So I'm going to let down the barrier and hope you don't kill me."

The barrier dissipated and Rhaeg took a moment to examine the Not-Slave more closely. It was…different. It looked the same, same weapons, same armour, but its light aura was dimming, turning into something dark.

What did that mean? Was the Not-Slave becoming a creature of evil? Rhaeg wasn't sure, but it would be better if it were true. One couldn't trust a creature of good, no matter how favoured by the Master, but if it turned evil…

Rhaeg hissed, gaining the attention of his brothers, and led them into the cave-burrow-home. They would see what the Not-Slave could do.

"So, what, do I just follow you lot?"

Not-Slave slowly and cautiously entered the moss covered tunnels just behind the single red-not-green minion. Its eyes flicked about, taking in the crumbled pillars and arches found throughout the cave-burrow-home and the piles of rotting vegetation which attracted clouds of flies.

The tunnel opened up into a wide room where the path sloped down to an area filled with low to the ground, bulbous poison-good-plants that released a heavy, thick green poison-good-fog that hugged the cavern floor.

"Ugh, that is nasty! It smells like a herd of wet buffalo crawled in here to die!"

Flattery would get the Not-Slave nowhere. Rhaeg and his brothers ran through the poison-good-fog. The red-not-green tried to follow, but as the vapour filled his lungs and wracking coughs shook his frame, he fell to the ground, dead. A few of the greens laughed at that, but Rhaeg and the others just watched with a mixture of contempt and derision. Other minion tribes were hopelessly stupid. Well, except maybe the blue-not-greens, but they were know-it-alls who no one liked and still weren't as good as greens.

"So I should avoid the big cloud of death, then."

The greens silently stared at the Not-Slave.

"Right, very creepy. You are all being very helpful, by the way."

It traveled along the outskirts of the room where the floors sloped upwards away from the poison-good-fog. It jumped across a wide gap and then they were off once again down a tunnel.

The Not-Slave used too many words. It complained, it joked, then it complained again. Did it ever shut up? Rhaeg couldn't remember, or maybe he just never noticed. Back at the Tower, greens had always ignored it and avoided the Not-Slave as much as possible. At least it wasn't completely incompetent. It was clever enough to climb up and jump across the old pillars to avoid the poison-good-fog and fast enough to run past the poison-good-plants before they sprayed it with, as the Not-Slave called it, "proof the gods hate me".

Eventually, they made it to the deepest part of the cave-burrow-home. The room was large, the ceiling lost in the shadows overhead. In a depression in the center of the room, surrounded by dense vegetation and a cloud of poison-good-fog, stood the life-spawn-hive. Greens, the main bulk of the number that had survived the death of the last Overlord, filled the room, some in plain sight but most hidden, all ready to protect the all important life-spawn-hive. But now there was a new Master and they could go back to the Tower-burrow-home.

Minions ran forwards to pick up the life-spawn-hive. Now to find the Master and figure out what to do about the Not-Slave… They carried their burden over to a tunnel out of the room.

"Hey! Where are you going! The exit's that way!"

Not-Slave cursed and swore but ran after the greens. These tunnels were narrow and the minions had to be careful not to scrape the life-spawn-hive against the walls. It soon widened, however, and the tunnel emptied out onto a natural, stone ledge above a circular room littered with yellowed bones, not all of them animals. Rhaeg looked down at the large, solidly built troll that made its home there. The ledge was just out of the beast's reach and if they stuck to the ledge they could follow it safely to the tunnel on the other side.

"Now that's a big one," Not-Slave said and walked over to the edge to look at the troll. "Lets try to avoid pissing it off and just-"

The Not-Slave's words were cut off with a yelp as Rhaeg and several of his brothers pushed it down into the room with the troll. It landed with a thump but shot to its feet when the troll took notice.

** "**You twitchy, stench ridden bastards!" Not-Slave yelled as it jumped out of the way of a swing of the troll's massive fists.

Not-Slave backed away from the troll as it laboriously turned. It drew its daggers, much to Rhaeg's approval. The light and agile would always triumph over the heavy and cumbersome.

There was no sound from the greens crowded along the ledge. They all knew what was going on. Not-Slave was something new, something different, and didn't have a place amidst the minions. It had always smelled of light, so it never belonged. Now, though, Rhaeg could see that the light was dimming and evil was ready to claim the Not-Slave completely. When that happened, perhaps then Not-Slave would belong at the Tower. But minions didn't do well with ambiguity, especially when it came to command. It always went Overlord, Mistress, Gnarl, Mortis, greens (at least in Rheag's mind) and then the other minions. So where did the Not-Slave fit? They would find out.

The troll approached the Not-Slave, its feet landing heavily on the stone floor. Not-Slave darted forwards with a flurry of strikes, carving thin lines of red on the troll's thick skin. The beast roared, more in annoyance than actual pain, and tried to grab Not-Slave who quickly darted back out of range.

The troll pursued in a rage. Not-Slave waited until it was close, and then sparks suddenly erupted from its hands and coursed up its daggers. It dashed to the side and then forwards to end up behind the slow moving troll and brought an electrified dagger across the back of its lower leg (a very green-like move, Rhaeg observed), slicing through muscle and causing it to fall to one knee.

Not-Slave climbed up the troll's back, plunging a blade into its shoulder as a handhold. The troll arched back and roared in pain, allowing Not-Slave to reach up and stab it through the eye. The troll toppled over, dead.

The greens hollered and stomped their feet in the ground. Rhaeg watched the Not-Slave begin to climb out of the room. It was skilled and its abilities had not degraded over the past years. Rhaeg still wasn't quite sure where the Not-Slave fit, but it was at least as good as a green. When the last of the light was drained and replaced by evil, which Rhaeg thought would be soon, then it might even be level with Gnarl.

"What the HELL was that about?!" Not-Slave yelled after it hauled itself back on to the ledge, a murderous rage in its odd, blue eyes. "Decided that since you can't kill me outright yourselves you'd have a troll do your dirty work for you?!"

Sparks crackled across its body, magic leaking out in its barely contained anger. Rhaeg calmly met its gaze.

"If want dead, you dead," Rhaeg said. "Troll test, you pass, no hate. You green-not-green."

Confusion replaced the anger.

"Uhh… what?"

Rhaeg sighed. How clearer could he make it?

Rhaeg walked over to the life-spawn-hive and ran a clawed hand along it until he found a spot where a small piece jutted out, covered in the moss that grew there. He snapped it off.

The greens collectively flinched at the shudder that went through the life-spawn-hive, but it soon stilled and returned to normal. Rhaeg examined the piece of the life-spawn-hive, a solid piece of dark green stone no bigger than a thumb. He gave it to the Not-Slave. No, he gave it to Sol. It deserved a real name now.

"Um, thanks?" Sol said and accepted it.

It still had a lot to learn. Evil beings never say "thanks". They take what they want when they want it, no matter what others say.

The minions picked up the life-spawn-hive once more and led the way out of the cave, no longer the cave-burrow-home.


	12. Sol and the Conspiracy

Sol didn't know whether to laugh or cry. They stood in the center of an Elven ruin, stone walls broken and crumbled by the forest that sought to reclaim it, staring into a deep pool of water in silence with no idea what to do.

The green hive had been returned to the Tower through the gate, and Sol, followed by the suddenly helpful greens (she had no way of explaining _that_ miracle), had searched Evernight for the Overlord, following a trail of blood and scorch marks.

He had been found in the ruin, surrounded by the corpses of rat creatures and minotaur. The whole scene was a complete bloodbath, and Sol was rather impressed. Minotaur were tough opponents, able to shrug off most attacks like they were nothing, but he had been able to take on not one but three. She was more than a little disappointed that she had missed the fight.

They had then followed a thick root from there, seemingly the last one, only to have it lead into the pool, the node lost in its murky depths.

Gnarl had been quick to volunteer Sol for the job of diving down to find it. She had to remind him that her people were not swimmers and trying would result in lots of screaming and flailing interrupted by occasional bouts of drowning.

"Even better!" Gnarl had proclaimed.

They opted instead to return to the Tower. Kaern had found all the ingredients Rose needed (the mental image of him picking flowers in between smiting beasts was a great source of amusement), and perhaps a solution would present itself while they sorted out Heaven's Peak. Now wouldn't that be convenient.

It would take some time for Rose to create her plague shield thing (or whatever she wanted to call it), so Sol decided to wind down in the sitting room previously reserved as a convenient sulking area but now claimed for her own personal use. Maybe she should stick her name on the door, redecorate so it looked a little less girly and pink. She had no fewer than twelve other rooms that looked exactly the same, so it wasn't as if anyone would miss it.

Sol lounged on a plush chair, head on one armrest and feet dangling over the other as she examined the piece of the green hive. She didn't know what to make of it. Minions had always disliked her, greens less so than others but they still pointedly ignored her, growled at her passing if they were feeling particular annoyed, only ever looking past that when they were sent out on missions for the Overlord. Sol hadn't really been all that surprised when they had thrown her to the troll. Now, however, she had seen a group of greens hiss at and stare down a rather vocalized brown. Sol didn't understand, and that made her easy. She half expected a trap to spring shut at any moment.

The door creaked open and Sol looked over to see Rose enter the room.

"Aren't you going to change out of that armour?"

"What can I say? The Kaern is rubbing off on me."

"I have a proposition for you, Sol, though I'm beginning to suspect I'll come to regret it."

"Don't you have something better to do than come in here and insult me? Something to do with the plague, perhaps, and not dying a horrible death?"

"It needs to sit for a bit before its administered. And last I checked, this room is mine and I can come and go as I please."

"Not any more. I've claimed it."

Rose sat in the chair opposite Sol and raised one slender eyebrow.

"Is that so? I wasn't aware that was the way things worked around here."

"Well according to paragraph seven, sentence three, word eight of the Geneva Convention, 'the'. So bite me."

"Must you be so childish?"

"Growing old is mandatory. Growing up isn't."

"For most of us that's true, but not for you."

Sol was struck speechless and Rose gave her a knowing smile. No use denying it, then.

"How did you know?"

"You look to be, what? 21? 22? Yet the last Overlord died three years ago, and accounts place you working for him at least a decade before that."

"Most people calk it up to graceful aging and skin care products."

"My father has… unusual companions. I know how to spot an immortal. It either makes them incredibly wise with an unimaginably deep well of experience to draw on, or the weight of all those years breaks them."

"Did you just call me broken?"

"You mask it well, and it does not hamper your abilities. I am rather curious to know whether it is common to your people as it is for the Elves, or something unique to you."

"The agelessness or the broken part?"

"I didn't mean it as a judgment, just making an observation."

"Well I am making a judgment when I observe that you're a bitch. And to answer your question, I'm a unique, broken immortal."

"Could we please just drop it and move on?"

"Maybe if I were a fully functional individual, but sadly, I am not."

"You're impossible!"

"I can't be impossible. I exist. At most I'm improbable."

Rose's eye started to twitch and she looked to be a step away from an aneurism.

"All right, I'll stop before your head explodes. What did you want to talk about?"

Rose took a deep breath to calm herself, then waved a hand at the door. A brown minion entered wearing an apron (?) and carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups and a few other small items. The minion set the tray on the table between Rose and Sol, gave the Wanderer a dirty look, then left.

"You came here to have a tea party?"

"Hardly. I find it adds an air of civility."

Rose poured it out and offered Sol a cup, which she declined.

"I am neither a little girl playing dress up and make believe or an old crone about to go on a rant about the youth of today."

"Where do you get those preconceptions?"

"I make most of them up myself."

Rose closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Can we please have a mature conversation for once?"

"Probably not, but go ahead."

"You were around when the last Overlord was in power. So tell me, doesn't this whole situation with Kaern seem rather odd to you?"

"How so?"

"A new Overlord is found so quickly, one that would be easy to manipulate with the memory loss and all."

"What memory loss?"

"You don't know? Kaern's entire past before waking up in the Tower has been wiped away. I would have thought you'd have noticed something by know."

"Hey, it takes a twisted sort of mind to become Overlord. I don't know how to tell the difference between amnesia crazy or evil crazy. Though that does explain a lot. Add that to the other things I've noticed, and you're right to say that something's up."

"So you agree?"  
"I guess, though I can't quite put my finger on what's off, but Gnarl's bound to have his grubby little hands in it."

"And that is precisely why I've come to you," Rose said and sipped her tea. "I propose an alliance against anything that might come. Gnarl is intelligent and crafty. We'll need to work together to protect ourselves."

"Why come to me? I'm not a complete idiot. A blind man could tell you don't think much of me. For all I know you and Gnarl could be working together."

"While your character could certainly use some work, you are much more capable than you would have others believe. As for Gnarl, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

"That would be pretty far, I bet, and something I'd pay to see," Sol snorted.

Rose's eyes narrowed. "You understand my point none the less. Between the two of you, you are much less likely to stab me in the back given the first opportunity."

Sol regarded her silently for a moment. She didn't trust Rose, not at all. She was hiding something, had some sort of hidden agenda.

"Before I agree to anything, tell me this: What were you doing at Castle Spree?"

"I've already told you, working to combat the plague."

"In a backwater like Spree? Without access to any materials besides the ones you managed to bring with you? There are no merchants around these parts who would supply the sort of things I'm sure you would need."

"It's close to Evernight, the only place where one can find the sort of things I needed."

"There are larger cities close to the southern outskirts of the forest, where there is more open trade with the Elves. But instead you went to Spree, a land filled with superstitious and fearful plebeians who do their best to isolate themselves from any and all nonhumans."

Rose sighed. "I think I preferred you as an obnoxious child. If you must know, I had heard tell another Overlord had risen."

"So, what? You came hoping you wouldn't get turned into a pile of smoldering ash?"

"Did you not do the same? The risks are sometimes worth the reward."

Rose wasn't telling her everything, not by a long shot. If she was hiding something wasn't the question, but rather if what she was hiding would harm Sol. Still, it wouldn't hurt to play along, at least for the moment.

"All right then, Rose. You have yourself an ally. Do you have a particular plan in mind, or are you making it up as you go?"

"I always have a plan, but for now I need you to just keep your eyes open. You have experience I lack and will be much more likely to notice any strange going ons.

Rose rose from her chair and left the room, leaving Sol by herself. She sat in silent solitude for a moment before her eyes landed on the tray on the table.

"Why not?" she muttered and grabbed the cup, the tea already poured but untouched.

She downed the now lukewarm concoction, and any strangely bitter taste was chalked up to being a part of some exotic brand.

…

Sol was floating, but at the same time her limbs felt leaden and weighed down. She thought she might be moving, but she wasn't sure why. Her head lolled to the side and slitted eyes took in a window cut into stone wall revealing a starlit sky. That was important for some reason. Sol struggled to figure out why.

By Sithian, why was this so hard? When had thinking become such a chore? It would be much easier to just not think, Sol decided.

Sol heard voices. Two of them, familiar sounding. One might have been Gnarl's, the other was deeper, watery. Mortis?

"The Master wants us to ensure everything goes as planned, and that means making sure the meddler won't be able to interfere," Gnarl said.

"The shock could kill her."

"No great loss there."

"A lot of time was invested in this experiment."

"And it could take that long again for it to finish without an extra push. The Master trusted me with this decision, not you. Kaern is becoming more powerful than we expected, and the Rose is slowly twisting him away from my influence. She never should have been sent, not before we knew for sure she would do as we wanted. If Sol survives we'll have some extra help for when he is no longer useful. If she dies, well, there'll be one less annoyance to worry about."

"Sol's addled mind couldn't keep up with what was being said. She tried to grasp on to the meaning but it quickly drained away like sand through her fingers. Concentrating was just so hard. Her hand twitched in irritation and a frustrated sound passed her lips.

"Are you sure the draught is working?"

"It isn't intended to render completely unconscious. She will not remember anything, however."

"Good, though did you see how the greens reacted when they saw her cup as being spiked? Nearly cut Mouldy in half before they were told what was going on. Since when were they so fond of her? Last I checked, the tribes hated Sol!"  
"She has been gradually turning dark for quite some time, but know it is becoming much more apparent. Greens are more sensitive to that sort of thing than Reds or Browns and much more likely to adapt to a new situation."

"I think I preferred it when they all wanted to gut her. Will the tribes start acting that way?"

"You fear she will usurp your power," Mortis said after a pause.

"Don't be ridiculous! I am the Minion Master and top adviser to the Overlord! She will never be rise above me."

There was no response, and Sol got the distinct feeling of going downwards. The air grew cooler and she thought she heard the sound of chattering minions. And then there was something else, a humming noise that filled her ears and tugged at her mind.

Sol's eyes shot all the way open and suddenly her thoughts were no longer muddled. She was in the Minion Burrow, a place she had avoided along with all the tunnels beneath the Tower since that night she had awoken here.

She broke free of the hands that held her, startling those that had brought her here. They were not important, not when the humming song filled her mind and drew her towards the Tower Heart. The lure was stronger this time and there would be no breaking free.

The song was everywhere, both comforting and terrifying. She stopped in front of the Heart. A small part of her mind was screaming to stop, to flee, but it couldn't stop her from reaching a hand out.

It burned, but she embraced and welcomed the pain for it brought a clarity of mind she had not had for a long time. As her fingers finally touched the Tower Heart, the fire spread throughout her body. The doubt over her choice to serve the Overlord, the confliction over all the hurt she was causing, the lingering homesickness for her own people, long had they been pushed to the side and ignored, but now they were burned away completely, to be replaced by utter surety of purpose.

Parts of Sol were stripped away while others were nurtured and grew. She was still the same person, but now she would view the world from a new perspective and different things would take priority. The same but different, equal yet opposite.

Dark instead of light.

Her palm rested against the Heart. The burning was gone along with the pain, and the glassy surface felt smooth and cool beneath her hand. For one perfect instant, everything was clear, every plot, every scheme, all the ways to defend herself and all the ways to destroy those who would do her harm, all without the hindrance of morals.

And then all thoughts fled her mind, completely forgotten.

Sol collapsed to the ground.


	13. Sol and the Quest for Breakfast

Sol awoke with a panicked start, falling off her bed in a tangled mess of blankets and sheets. She fought her way free and jumped to her feet, sure that she was in danger, but when she looked around there was no threat that she could see.

Her heart was racing, her mouth felt like it was full of sand, and her head was pounding. The first rays of dawn filtering in through the window were painful to look at, and Sol fumbled blindly for the thick curtains and drew them closed.

With a groan, Sol fell back on her bed, her arms covering her face. She couldn't remember what had happened last night. It was all one big, fuzzy blur, her last clear memory was talking with Rose. Something about an alliance?

Ugh. Sol felt horrible. Judging by the feeling, she had either used a massive amount of magic or went on a bender, neither of which she remembered doing but could think of no other explanation.

So she was probably magicsick or just really hungover. Lucky for her, the cure for both was the same: lots of food, the greasier the better.

After a brief inner debate, Sol pushed herself out of the nice, warm, comfortable bed and stumbled out of the room, now on the hunt for food.

...

The look on Rose's face when she entered the kitchen was priceless. Sol wished she could slow the moment down, have more time to see her move through the four stages of what Sol called the "What the Hell Happened After That?!" series (WHHAT?! For short.). First comes the practiced, in control face when the person enters the room, prepared for everything except what they are about to see. Next is the blank look, their minds struggling to comprehend what they're seeing, be it a horde of monkeys swinging from the chandelier or gladiator fairies (long story that, and not one Sol was particularly proud of). Then is the outrage/extreme annoyance, depending on who the person is to the perpetrator and whether it was their place that just got trashed. And finally, the questions.

"What is going on in here?" Rose demanded, falling in the 'extremely annoyed' category.

"Goo mor'in o ou, oo," Sol slurred through a mouthful of eggs.

"Who are all these people?"

"Oh, them?" Sol gestured absently to the group of women scurrying around the kitchen like frightened mice, cleaning, cooking, and doing just about anything Sol told them to do. "Well, that's Kate, Harriet, Janice, or at least I think it's Janice. Might have been Janet or Jane, some name that starts with 'J' at any rate. Debbie, Marsha, and that one's family apparently comes from so distant land so she has a ridiculously hard to pronounce name, so I just call her Millie-"

"That's not what I meant! How and why are they here?"

"Well, funny story that. I woke up today really, really hungover. At least I assume I was hungover. I couldn't find any magicka burns, and getting completely hammered sounds like something I'd do. Anyway, I was in desperate need of food, but since I was in no fit state to make some myself, the only way I'd get some was to have the minions cook it.

"I don't know about you, but there is no way I'm putting anything a minion has touched into my mouth. Just, ew. So I used the Tower Gate to take me down to Spree. I go into the village, and people there are still terrified, by the way, and started going on about how their previous actions wouldn't be tolerated and how they'd have to work and prove their loyalty.

"Now, I was just looking for some free food, but all of a sudden they start throwing girls at me, literally in Harriet's case, yelling to take them as proof that they were sorry and would never do anything like that again.

"So now the Overlord has some new slaves and I have people to cook my food."

"You enslaved people because you wouldn't make your own breakfast or settle for an apple?"

"When you put it that way I sound like a dick, but yeah."

Rose surveyed the women, not with judgement or disapproval but with cold calculation, now over the shock of having a troop of random women in her home. She then sat down across from Sol at the small, square table.

"I require tea, the Ruborian blend, one sugar, no milk. Also, two pieces of toast, lightly done, and plain without butter," she told one of the slaves, who then ran off to do as she was told.

Rose watched them as they worked for a few moments before turning back to Sol.

"We must get them something more appropriate to wear, not those peasant rags. This is the Dark Tower, home of the Overlord, not some backwater farm, home to livestock."

"In all honesty, I stopped caring about them the moment I got my food."

"There were no slaves where I was raised. Everyone said it was immoral, evil, but I always thought it'd make things much simpler. Slaves follow the commands of their masters, no questions or protests. What about your own people, Sol?"

"Firmly against slavery. It's their one redeeming quality, and even that's due more to their disgust at the prospect of dealing with the, ahem, 'lesser races' in any way, shape or form, even as masters to slaves, and less because of any moral viewpoint."

"Still, I find it odd that you would enslave others so easily then."

Sol froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. She slowly lowered it, he expression blank. She hadn't really given it much thought. In truth, what she was doing hadn't really dawned on her. While she had known she was turning those women into slaves, that fact hadn't completely registered, hadn't clicked in her mind. She had just condemned these people to a lifetime of servitude.

And it didn't bother her.

"...Never mind, then." Rose said after a moment of silence and her breakfast was placed before her. "I've finished the plague shield, so you can expect to be off to Heaven's Peak today."

Sol nodded mutely, her mind far away on other things. Back when the old Overlord was in power, slavery had been everywhere in his domain. While Sol had never hinted otherwise, it had made her feel sick, and later, when she had become more accustomed to it, just uncomfortable. As much as Sol may criticize her people, they did rage against the thought of taking away freewill. It was the reason they didn't even keep a prison system, crimes being punished in different ways from fines, service, exile and death. All were considered preferable to being chained and bound, and those beliefs had been drilled into Sol's head since the day she was born. Now, however, she had just stolen the freedom of those women completely on her own initiative without any orders telling her to do it.

She knew she should be feeling something, guilt or regret, but the only thing she felt at the moment was warm, full, and in a surprisingly high spirit considering the day's bad beginning. That should have worried her, but she was struggling to convince herself why.

_Who cares what happens to some peasants? I got what I wanted with little effort. Why should I feel bad about that? I should be happy I'm spared from such pointless feelings!_

Pushing such thoughts to the side, Sol focused on what she could expect at Heaven's Peak. She had never been there herself (for a known servant of the Overlord to willingly enter the home of a hero was stupid by even Sol's reckless logic, especially when said hero had his own army of paladins) but she had heard others speak of it. Despite the short sighted decision to build the city in a swamp, it was supposed to be beautiful with towering buildings made of gleaming, white stone, none so grand as the great Citadel of Angelis.

Here's to hoping the plague hasn't completely destroyed it all.

...

Swamps, swamps and more swamps. Why couldn't they ever go anywhere nice? Preferably without giant clouds of bloodthirsty insects. Gnarl seemed to be a fan of the place, but then again he didn't have to wade through it all.

Then there was the appearance of Moron and Not-Quite-As-Stupid, the sequel.

"Look friend, the camp is getting pretty full now," Moron the Second told them regretfully when Sol and Kaern with a horde of minions came down the path from the Tower Gate. "We just can't take in any more. Any your little friends look pretty far gone. I'm sorry."

"Eh, I don't think he's a refugee, sir," Not-Quite-As-Stupid said. "From the way he's dressed, I'd say he's heading to the city, not away from it!"

"Really, it hasn't been that long since the last Overlord fell," Rose said through the pool back at the Tower. "They should at least recognize the minions, if not the armour."

"You mean you actually want to get in... what's wrong with this guy?"

"You know about the plague, right? The zombies?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Sol stopped the man. "I heard about the plague, but _zombies?_"

"Yes! All the victims turn into one after a few days. The city's been closed off because of it! Orders of Sir William, our Paladin governor. He even cancelled his own wedding! And that ain't a woman you want to cancel on!"

"If the plague is turning people into actual zombies, then there's no way it's a natural disease," Sol said. "This has got to be the work of one supremely pissed off magical being. Still, this might make our job easier. Kill the source, end the plague. As for this hero, Sir William, I suppose it's too much to hope he got zombified. I've always found fiancées to be excellent hostages, however."

"Look, if you and your creatures want to start wandering about, be my guest! I suppose you might find a way into the city if you search."

The group ventured down the path into the camp. It was in a sorry state, with makeshift tents made of patched, leaking cloth and torches spread throughout that released a foul smelling smoke intended to keep disease carrying blackflies and mosquitoes away. The camp's occupants were all refugees from the city, having fled the plague infested streets with little more than the clothes on their backs. With haunted eyes and grim faces they went about their business with weapons clearly worn.

Sol had once stayed in a refugee camp, briefly and long ago before her lack of ageing had become apparent. It had not been a pleasant experience. During times of hardship, some people banded together to try and help each other through it all as best they could, sharing food, water and other supplies. More live in a state of denial, going about their days as if nothing had changed and taking comfort in familiar tasks such as cleaning clothes and cooking meals. Most, however, take advantage of the chaos. Crime had been rampant in the camp, theft, assault and murder all commonplace with no lawmen to stop it.

They did find out some interesting information, however. Apparently, some odd, blue creatures had been spotted deeper in the swamp. It had to be the blue minions. As much as Sol hated the arrogant little cretins, they would be useful.

And so they left the camp and into the mucky swamp. At least this time Sol was a bit better prepared, having covered every bit of exposed skin with a repulsive smelling concoction that drove the insects away.

Sol was just so sick of water and mud, the water especially. Hers was not a water loving people, building all their major cities inland and almost always traveling overland instead of much faster sea routes. There was a reason why their goddess of war was so closely associated with the ocean. But that was beside the point. Sol and water didn't mix, and she was eager to get out if there.

The blues were easy enough to find. They started shouting and running about the thin strips of land at the Overlord's approach, excited at the appearance of a new master. The other minions watched on with narrowed eyes. While there was a rivalry between all the tribes, blues were unanimously the most disliked. They were naturally smarter than the others (though not as cunning or resourceful as greens), had a better grasp of the human language, and never let anyone forget it.

"They'll have their hive in the deepest part of that hollow, safely away from anything that might harm it," Gnarl said. "Best go and find it, my Lord. You never know when you'll get a sword through the gut and need healing before your entrails start leaking all over the place."

The Overlord, flanked by his minions, entered the tunnel in the center of one of the many peninsulas, but Sol stood awkwardly just short of the entrance.

"You know... maybe I should go... scout for a way into Heaven's Peak while you get the blues," Sol stumbled through her excuse.

"What Sol means to say is that she is deathly afraid of water and doesn't want to go in," Gnarl snickered.

"I just think it would be smart to split up, get this whole thing finished that much sooner."

Sol breathed a sigh of relief when Kaern nodded his assent and entered the hollow. She hated to admit it, but Gnarl's barb was closer to the truth than he realized. The last time she had gone into a cave with blues, she had ended up pushed into an underground river, dumped down a waterfall into a deep pool, attacked by a giant fish (don't ask) and almost drowned while the little blue bastards watched from the shore, pointing and laughing at her pathetic attempts to swim. That was not an experience she wished to repeat.

Sol turned back towards the camp. Now to find a way into the city...


	14. Sol and the Succubus

The city of Heaven's Peak would've been Hell for any attacking army. How does one march through a swamp or set up camp in such wet, mucky terrain?

The walls of the city were tall and strong, the steep drop off to the swamp below forming a natural swamp. The main entrance was a narrow gate protected by a raised drawbridge, a simple defense but effective. Even if an attacking force managed to get the drawbridge down, only a small number of troops would be able to cross such a narrow bridge at a time, easily managed by defenders while arrows and hot tar rained down on those still stuck in the press on the bridge.

A dozen grannys with brooms could have held off an army in this city. Of course, Sol made a career out of doing solo whole armies couldn't.

Sol had checked around Heaven's Peak's perimeter and talked with the people in the refugee camp. There were two gates into the city, both more or less identical but the second found on the other side of the graveyard with a legion of undead between it and Sol, and a third entrance in the form of a sewer pipe. There was no way in Hell Sol was going to wade through a sewer, so the main entrance it was.

No one could be seen on the walls as Sol approached the drawbridge. From the stone bridge on which she stood, it wasn't all that wide of a gap she needed to cross, nor was the top of the drawbridge all that high up.

Out of her pack Sol took a long length of rope attached to the end of a sturdy, metal, farming rake "borrowed" from the camp. She twirled her makeshift grappling hook around and threw it up to the drawbridge. It hit the wood but then bounced back. She tried again, but it came free when she gave it an experimental tug. Third time was the charm and it held, metal prongs digging deep into wood.

It wasn't until Sol was dangling over the steep drop down to the swamp below that she considered the thought that maybe entrusting her life to a piece of old farming equipment wasn't the brightest of ideas. It was too late to turn back, so she shimmied up the rope as fast as she could and tried not to think about how she would look as a red stain on the ground.

She reached the top of the bridge and hauled herself up, then promptly fell down the other side with a yelp.

"Intruder!"

At the sound of the voice, muffled by a metal helmet, Sol quickly rolled to the side. A sword cut across the ground where she was a second before. Sol jumped to her feet, staff in hand to face a heavily armored knight wielding a sword and shield.

Sol hated fighting people with shields. They were just so annoying to deal with, batting away strikes and creating openings to attack while keeping themselves frustratingly well protected.

But it wasn't many shields that could deflect shields.

Sparks erupted over Sol's hand as she pulled her arm back then thrust it forwards, sending a translucent barrier rocketing into the knight.

He flew back and landed heavily on his back. Sol wasted no time and ran forwards. The knight was covered head to toe in the ornately crafted, distinctive armor, durium by the look of it. The only obvious opening were the eye holes, where Sol plunged the blade of her staff.

With a sickening squelch, Sol removed her weapon then looked up to see a crowd of about fifteen thin, gaunt city dwellers in dirty, ripped clothes staring at her.

"Demon!" one woman finally yelled, picking up a small rock from the ground and throwing it at her.

"Demon!" the rest chorused and joined in the throwing of rocks.

Sol even count the number of times something like this had happened to her. In worlds such as this with a multitude of different races, it was usually assumed she was a member of some exotic, seldom encountered race, but there was never a shortage of ignorant jackasses ready with demon accusations.

"Knock it off!" Sol yelled and slammed the but of her staff onto the ground, releasing a weak shockwave, not very powerful but enough to cause the group to stumble back and shock them into silence.

"If one more of you calls me a demon or does anything else to piss me off, I will personally tear off your limbs and throw you to the zombies. Now, I need information."

It always takes an annoyingly long time to get answers out of scared people. They always went off on tangents or went back to begging for help/to let them go (depending on the situation). It took a while, but Sol was able to find a few things out amidst all the blubbering.

1) Ever since Sir William returned from his last crusade, presumably the assault of the Dark Tower, things have been spiraling into chaos even before the plague. It would seem the holier than thou paladin never gave a rat's ass what happened down in the city as long as his never ending parties weren't interrupted.

2) The wedding between William and some woman named Velvet had been cancelled, despite all the posters declaring their love plastered on every available surface. Why people thought that was relevant enough to mention was beyond Sol.

3) Zombies were everywhere, especially in the poor quarter.

4) Some claimed to have seen 'flying demons' guarding the citadel.

5) Sir William had spent a lot of time at the Halfway to Heaven Inn lately, where coincidently several people have gone missing. It was worth checking out in the meantime while waiting for the Overlord. If stopping the plague meant a trip to the local bar, well that was a sacrifice Sol would have to make.

Sol ordered the city dwellers to lower the drawbridge then ventured deeper into Heaven's Peak. There were a few more knights about but Sol just snuck by them. There was no point in wasting the energy to kill them, and the Overlord could just roast them alive easily when he passes through later.

Sol ran into plenty of zombies on her way to the inn. They were slow, stupid and weak, and only their sheer numbers made them a danger. Sol couldn't fight them all alone, at least not without burning herself out, so whenever she came across a large pocket of the shuffling corpses she turned and fled, losing them quickly and finding another way around.

What could have caused something like this, anyway? Anything to do with undead usually involved a necromancer, but that type of magic would raise those already dead, not create a plague that effects the living. No, when a necromancer wants a zombie army, they would slaughter a village and reanimate the corpses. Sol doubted they would even be capable of something like this.

Sol knew of plenty of magical creatures who could cause sickness, but on such a scale and with such an effect? More likely it was a mage of some kind. It definitely couldn't be a warlock with their straight forward, destructive magic. Shoot fire and lightning through their fingers? Certainly. Turn people into zombies? Never.

A sorcerer or a witch was more likely. Sithian, Sol hoped it wasn't a witch. So much as look at them funny and they'd hex you, and they tended to be extremely creative with their spells. The last time Sol had fought one she had manage to stab it in the chest only for it to curse her to always have its blood on her hands. She had killed the witch sure enough, but for the next month fresh blood had constantly coated and dripped from her hands, making a mess of everything and turning the simplest of tasks into an ordeal. Mortis eventually found a way to counteract the spell (though he was disappointed to lose a constant supply of witch's blood, an otherwise rare alchemical ingredient), so now she had a small rune burned onto each of her palms instead. Fun times.

There were fewer and fewer zombies the closer Sol got to the inn. What made this place so special? Sol uncovered her face (no need to make people more nervous than they already were) and went inside.

"Welcome!" a cheery blonde barmaid greeted Sol. "It may be Hell on Earth out there, but at our inn the drinks are still cold. Our beer will take you halfway to heaven, and I'm sure you'll find something in here to show you the ret of the way."

That came out way creepier and ominous than was likely intended. Sol just nodded, took a seat and looked around the room.

The inn was crowded with people trying to drink their problems away. Being one of the few zombie free areas in the city had to be great for business. As far as inns went it was a damned nice place too, clean, well lit and with food that actually looked like food. A good step up from where Sol usually found herself.

The atmosphere, however, was understandably strained and fearful. No amount of alcohol could completely erase the nervousness and worry the plague stirred up. People tried to hide it, but they were all on edge. That is, everyone except for one.

In the corner by himself was a man in a blood red cloak, his face hidden in the deep folds of his hood. He didn't talk to anyone and looked entirely at ease as he lounged in a plush chair. Sol kept her eye on him from her place at the bar. When another red cloaked figure entered the inn, the man got up and the two went off together though a side door Sol had assumed led to the cellar.

Sol put down her mug (What? Job or not, she was thirsty.) and followed.

The air grew cooler as Sol quietly stepped down a flight of stone stairs. She peered around a corner and saw a room filled with barrels and kegs, and caught sight of the scarlet tail of a cloak before it disappeared down a hallway.

Sol kept low as she traveled across the room, careful not to knock into anything. She made it to the hallway and saw it ended in a set of large wooden doors. She could hear voices and other unidentifiable noises coming from the other side.

Sol readied herself for whatever may be beyond those doors, kicked them open and…

"Welcome to the Order of the Red Dawn. Do enjoy your stay."

Of all the things she expected to find, a party wasn't one of them. Everything in the room was red, the rugs, the banners, the furniture, the identical cloaks of its occupants, save for the golden masks everyone wore. Sol, dazed by the unexpected find, was ushered into the room by the man who had greeted her.

People were lounging on couches, talking and laughing in small groups, drinking wine and a few danced to the haunting melody of a violin. What was all this? No one objected to Sol's presence or even seemed aware of it.

Was this some sort of cult? If it was, that could explain the plague. Bunch of wealthy, bored idiots playing at magic and demon worship could very well release something nasty by accident. Some clue as to how to stop it could be found if she were to have a look around.

There were several doors leading out of the room. Sol chose one at random and threw it open.

"Does the scarf on the door handle mean nothing to you? Or were you hoping to join in?"

Sol slammed the door shut. What was… How was that even physically possible?!

_Ok. Just stay calm and __don't touch __**anything!**_

Sol picked another door, this one without anything on the handle. This room was bare save for three sheep.

_Why would they keep sheep down- Oh Gods!_

Another door slammed shut, another emotional scar. What the Hell is wrong with some people?

For her own piece of mind, Sol tried to make herself believe the sheep were there to be sacrificed in some ritual. It didn't work, but she was able to conjure up the nerve to open a third door, revealing one supremely twisted torture chamber. Again, what the Hell is wrong with some people? Sure, she worked for the one cause that was well aware it was evil and proud of it, but she wasn't that messed up.

Did judging make her a hypocrite? Maybe, but Sol didn't care. She just wanted out of there before anything even more twisted appeared. Search for the plague source be damned, she had her own mental wellbeing to think about.

"You can't go now!" a man stopped her at the door. "The Lady is about to pick someone else!"

"Oh, I hope her Majesty chooses me next!" a woman said.

Sol's questions died on her lips when the large, ornate doors on the other side of the room opened and a figure seductively sashayed in.

To Sol's mind, succubus are just whores with wings. Succubus Queens are extremely powerful whores with wings. This one didn't bother to fly as she casually walked across the room, every conversation stopped as all eyes turned to watch her passing with adoration.

This explained a lot, and also revealed just how dangerous of a situation Sol was in. Succubus are masters of mind control, and this queen had each and every member of the Order of the Red Dawn as her thralls. They would rip Sol to shreds with their bare hands for her favour.

Sol played a song in her head. Mind control worked best if the victim's thoughts were scattered, jumping around or wandering, but it became harder if they were focused on something. Doing math worked best, but if it came to a fight, finding the antiderivative of 5x³ + 10x² + 2x was hardly feasible. So a song it was.

_Oh well honor for all, oh the big and the small_  
_The taller they stand, the harder they fall_  
_We live for today but we die for the next_  
_With blood in our veins and the air in our chests_  
_we step into war with our hearts on the line_  
_The dirt on our boots it shakes free over time_  
_The music it fades, the violin slows_  
_The darkness it rises as the sun goes_

The succubus queen stopped in front of Sol and smiled, revealing sharp, bright white fangs.

"Who are you?" she purred. "A new toy for me to play with?"

She stroked Sol's cheek with a finger and Sol struggled not to flinch back. Sol couldn't start anything right here where she was hopelessly outnumbered.

"You smell strongly of magic, my sweet. Not human, are you? That's fine. Neither am I, and I could do with a little variety in my meals."

The succubus stared into Sol's eyes. She knew she should look away, that she was being hypnotized, but it was just so hard. With enormous effort, Sol managed to turn away.

_Love is a distant aroma at best_  
_A withering smile that's stuffed deep in your vest_  
_The night air it wraps it's fingers around_  
_Your body it shakes from a now distant sound_  
_Oh the sound of her voice, a sweet symphony_  
_Played over and over until you are free_  
_The music it fades, the violin slows_  
_The darkness it rises, as the sun goes_

"Such a strong will you have. Why do you fight? Isn't it so muck easier to just give in?"

She grabbed Sol's head and forced her to look into her eyes.

"Do you not adore me? Do you not love me? Am I not enough?"

"Tell me you want me, that you would do anything for me."

"I… would…" Sol started then stopped. What was wrong with her? She needed to leave, right now.

_Can you feel the new day rising_  
_Climbing up the east horizon_  
_They can't hold us down we'll fight through_  
_Each and everyone will start new_

"You're not like that Sir William, are you? You will not wake me from my long slumber, drag me into a new world just to leave me for some human harlot? Promise, my sweet, that you will stay for all eternity."

Sol was strong. She would've died long ago if she were not. But this was a succubus queen, ancient beyond reckoning and her magic perfected over millennia of experience. Even Sol was little more than a child playing with magic when compared to her. Despite her efforts, she could not keep out the queen's influence. Sol's defenses were smashed to rubble, leaving her defenseless.

"I… promise…"

"Excellent! Perhaps I'll keep you as a pet, if you can keep me entertained."

O course Sol would! She would do anything for the Lady. Sol would keep the Lady safe and happy. Whatever her Majesty wants, she would get.

The succubus took Sol by the arm and led her from the room into a private chamber. Sol couldn't take in any details, all her thoughts were focused on the Queen, who pulled a dagger from Sol's belt and examined it.

"A warrior, are you my sweet? Sir William is a brave paladin, but then he abandoned me. So I sent a plague to ravish his people, but he still won't return to me."

"I will kill him if you wish."

She laughed. "So eager, but do you have the skill to match? William is a hero. What are you? Something useful, or simply my next meal?"

Sol was silenced with a finger pressed against her lips.

"Do not try to boast. You would say anything right now if you thought it would impress me. But blood, blood never lies."

The succubus sank her fangs into Sol's neck, her leathery wings enfolding the enthralled Wanderer.

It felt like Sol's blood was filling with ice, spreading outwards from the bite on her neck. She turned completely numb and couldn't move from her spot rooted to the floor.

The succubus pulled back suddenly, coughing slightly as beads of blood dripped down her chin.

"That was… unexpected. You are just full of surprises, my sweet. Such power in your blood. You alone could sustain me for a century. You're far to useful to just drain and discard. You will serve me well."

The succubus left the room and Sol followed like a little lost puppy.

"You will stand here, outside my quarters, until I decide what you will do for me first. Kill anyone who tries to enter or leave without my permission. You would do anything to protect your Queen, wouldn't you, my sweet?"

"Anything for you."

The succubus smiled, a chilling, unnerving sight. She then chose another member of the Red Dawn cult and disappeared back into her quarters.

Sol was so cold. It felt as if all the heat had been sucked from the room. What was warmth? As Sol stood outside that door, motionless, watching many be called into the Queen's chambers but never returning, Sol forgot what it was to be warm. There was nothing except for the succubus queen's commands and the ice in her veins.

"My sweet, I have a task for you," the Queen finally told her, ushering her into the private chamber. "Someone down in the city has become something of an annoyance. I want you to kill him and bring me his head as a present."

"Who?" Sol asked. Any enemy of the Lady would be destroyed with great pleasure.

"Some upstart who thinks they can come and take over _my_ territory, _my_feeding grounds. Apparently he goes by the name of Kaern and commands some sort of rat army. Take care of it, my sweet."

"The Overlord…"

"Who?" the Queen asked and raised one delicate eyebrow.

Sol was being ordered to kill the Overlord. Of course she would do it. This was her Queen and she would do anything for her.

Suddenly, a hot spike of pain erupted in Sol's head at the thought of raising a weapon against the Overlord. She tried to fight through it, to go and follow her Majesty's orders, but a blazing heat built up in her core and warred against the icy cold in her blood.

"What's wrong, my sweet? Are you not loyal to your queen? Go and obey me."

The cold was being burned out by the heat. The burning reminded her that this bitch wasn't the one she served. A humming noise filled Sol's head, purging the succubus' influence from her mind. It was a familiar sound and one she had heard before. Along with the heat, it was the bonds that tied her to the one who truly commanded her loyalty.

"You are not my master," Sol hissed.

Faster than the surprised succubus queen could react, Sol drew her dagger and plunged it into the creature's black heart. The last of the ice was gone but the fire in her veins remained, and only the whirlwind of blood drawn from the cultists could quench it as a song once again played in Sol's head.

_Well we shall not stumble no we shall not fall_  
_We shall not crumble we shall stand stall_  
_Death it will come as sure as the night_  
_But we will not run no we live but to fight_  
_With blood on our hands and dirt on our knees _  
_We tear at the ones who brought the disease_  
_The music it fades, the violin slows_  
_The darkness it rises as the sun goes_

_Can you feel the new day rising_  
_Climbing up the east horizon_  
_They can't hold us down we'll fight through_  
_Each and everyone will start new_

**And that was ****Honor For All**** by Jon Licht and Daniel Licht. **


	15. Rose and the Sibling Rivalry

**Anyone interested in learning more about Sol's people? Next chapter should shed a little light and give some more information.**

**Thank you to Lugia's Apprentice for the "Kaern sounds like a girl's name" idea!**

Such short sighted decisions never failed to annoy Rose. How stupid could some people be? The Silent Order was starving potential worshipers! That was no good for any long term plan, as anyone with half a brain could see.

And so Kaern charged in and killed them all. Or at least would have if the Order hadn't had the frustrating ability of resurrecting each other. Still, kick something enough times and it'll stay down.

As it also turned out, the Silent Order was quite taken with the "if you can't stop 'em, join 'em" ideology. Or, more precisely, "if you can't kill 'em, worship 'em".

Rose was conflicted on whether this was another act of idiocy or a stroke of genius. It depended on whether they actually believed Kaern to be a god, or if it was just a ploy to not get killed. Either way, they were spared, the temple was looted of all valuables and another safe place for the city folk to wait the plague out was made.

They were all extremely thankful about that last one, which was good. When Heaven's Peak was officially named a part of the Overlord's domain, already having a large number of loyal supporters would make the transition easier, especially after said supporters spread stories about how he had selflessly assaulted the Silent Order to help them, and not because an unknown and independent faction in the city might stand against his rule later on.

Everything was going along smoothly, all clear and organized, until one of the fools decided to incite a mass panic.

"Zombie!" a man yelled and pointed down the stone bridge from the temple. "It's going to eat our brains!"

Really? After everything they'd just witnessed, they thought one shambling corpse could get past Kaern? And it would seem stupidity was contagious because soon all of them were freaking out. Even the stitched mouth priests looked a little nervous.

And the worst part was, it wasn't even a zombie.

Granted, Sol did look absolutely terrible as she stumbled down the bridge. She was covered in blood from head to toe and she looked completely drained of energy. The mask that usually concealed her face was gone, revealing pale skin drained of all colour and the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Sol seemed to barely manage the short walk up to Kaern.

"Nice armor," she muttered tiredly. "Where'd you get the sword?"

"That's it?!" Rose demanded through the magical link. "You've been gone for days and that's all you have to say?!"

Sol blinked, clearly surprised.

"Days? If felt like only a few hours..."

"Kaern had enough time to get the blue hive, find a durium smelter, forge new gear, clear the zombies from most of the city and become the new deity of the Silent Order while you were gone doing Gods know what!"

"Just what were you doing, Sol?" Gnarl asked. "Getting drunk at some tavern instead of doing your job, I bet. We though you'd been killed. It's rather disappointing to see you here alive."

_what have you found out?_ Kaern asked.

"Well, first of all, I heard some rumors of weird happenings at the Halfway to Heaven Inn, so I went to check it out-"

"So you were getting drunk then!" Gnarl laughed.

"-and found the Order of the Red Dawn Cult in the basement."

"How do you know they were a cult?"

"They were doing... cult things."

"Cult things?"

"Please don't ask. It's bad enough that I had to see it once already. I do not want to repeat them out loud."

_Continue then._

"It turned out they were all thralls to a succubus queen, who had originally been summoned by Sir William. I'll give you one guess as to why he would do that. Anyway, she did not appreciate his ongoing dalliance with the, I quote, 'human harlot', and started the plague to punish him. The inn was her primary feeding ground, and I'd wager she was keeping the zombies away so more people would come to the inn. At any rate, she's dead now so the plague should be at an end."

There was more to this story, of that Rose was sure. It could be seen in the shadows behind her eyes and the weariness in her face. The fact that she didn't try to hide it behind a cocky smile or a sarcastic remark made it obvious that something was troubling her. Or maybe she was just too tired to care.

"Hmm... A succubus queen. Quite the lethal lady," Gnarl mused. "Now with all that plague business out of the way, you can get to the fun stuff, Sire. Squashing smug little heroes!"

_Return to the Tower,_ Kaern ordered Sol. _You will only be a liability in this state._

Sol didn't argue and just trudged over to the newly activated gate at the back of the temple. What had she been doing for the past four days? She looked like death warmed over.

"Sire, there's something I should mention," Rose said after Sol had disappeared in a flash of blue. She had been debating whether or not she should tell him. It was hardly relevant or important in Rose's opinion, but if he was to run into Velvet and she mentioned it, he'd think Rose was keeping secrets. The success of her mission hinged on his trust, and she wasn't about to let Velvet ruin at all for her. "The one Sir William was going to marry, the 'human harlot' Sol mentioned, which really is an apt name for her, is my sister, Velvet. We don't talk. Talking usually means she's gotten into trouble again."

It was important to mention that. Rose couldn't let him think she was actively communicating with the enemy, even if it was only the enemy's bed warmer.

Kaern didn't respond. He stood completely still for a moment, absorbing the information. Then he just started off towards Angelis Keep with a horde of twenty five minions at his back.

What did that mean? Did he just not care? Or was he now suspicious of her? That would be just like Velvet to ruin everything! Why was she even here? This was probably some grab for attention because father chose Rose to get close to and spy on the new Overlord, not her. What a tantrum she had pulled over that! Velvet, so used to getting everything she wanted had finally felt what it was like to be passed over.

Now Velvet was in Angelis Keep, no doubt trying to pettily get revenge for that slight. There was no way she'd be in a place like this for any other reason. The keep was a bright place made of gleaming white marble. The decor was simple and elegant, not too gaudy, and while it was a bit bare at the moment Rose thought it had a lot of potential. That meant, of course, that Velvet would hate it. She preferred vast displays of wealth and liked every room to have a dark aura about it.

And then they met Sir William the paladin, and Rose then knew for sure she wasn't there for love, even if Velvet was capable of loving something that wasn't a shiny jewel. Sure, he had the face many would describe as "pretty", but Velvet didn't do "pretty". She liked tough, strong, ruggedly handsome men, not pretty boys. And his voice! Everything he said was in an annoyingly high timbre that made Rose want to punch him.

"So you're the one I've been hearing so much about, running around _my_ city as if it's yours," Sir William said in an oh so superior tone, lazily holding a black, wooden staff in one hand and fixing his golden hair with the other. "Karen, was it? I must say I was expecting someone a but more female."

_My name is Kaern!_

The pure, white hot rage in his "voice" was both shocking and scary. He was quite attached to that name, Rose knew, and now it was being made fun of.

"Whatever, Karen. You certainly should not be turning up at my party uninvited and flouting the dress code!"

He said the last part as if it was a grave crime and ran from the room, his red cloak flowing behind him. Kaern charged after, ready to tear him into little pretty boy pieces but found himself in a large room filled with people in identical red cloaks, the hoods pulled over their faces.

Kaern didn't bother trying to figure out which one, if any, was Sir William and instead just sprayed great streams of fire into the centre of the crowd. Red minions joined in with their own fireballs while browns swept along the room's perimeter, swarming cultists not caught in the magical barrage.

"Do not kill _all_ my party guests!" came Sir William's annoying voice.

He jumped into the center of the room, hood thrown back, his staff hitting the floor and sending out a blast of energy that dispersed the magical flames.

What?! Sir William was a paladin! They're not trained to use magic! Where did he learn...

Rose's eyes zeroed in on the staff. It had to be enchanted. That was the only explanation.

"My lord, the staff!" Rose cried.

Kaern didn't wait for her explanation and charged the hero with durium sword raised high. He brought it down on Sir William, who quickly brought up his staff to black the blow.

The moment the sword's edge hit the staff, a shock wave of magic was released that sent Kaern stumbling back.

"Do you like it?" the paladin asked with a self satisfied smirk. "It was a gift from the Wizard. He trusts me the most, and I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear of you're death, Karen. At least you're good for a little entertainment. I do hope you can stay the distance!"

With that Sir William flipped his hood back on and ran down a hallway out of the room.

"I can't believe I spent so long defending the right and the just!" he called back at pursuing Overlord. "I thought fun happened to other people! I can't tell you how good it feels to throw off the shackles of morality and antiquated dogma!"

Kaern ran through empty rooms and hallways, passing a set of thick, ornate doors.

"I'm in here!" came an alluring voice from behind the door. "And tell that greedy Dwarf king that he can't have his wedding present back! If I'm not going to have a wedding, I at least want presents!"

"That's Velvet," Rose sighed.

The door was locked, so the only way to go was down the hallway to another large room filled with hooded cultists. Sir William stood in the center of them all, brandishing his staff.

"The Wizard taught me how to seek my freedom. I won't let you take it, you uncouth lout, never! Remember, Karen, the Wizard is watching! He is always watching!"

_My. Name. Is not. Karen!_

The minions spread out to hold off the cultists while Kaern charged in to battle the hero. A feint to the left shoulder, then the sword was brought around in an arcing strike to the right hip. The paladin jumped back out of the way then rushed forwards, the butt or his staff taking Kaern in the chest and sending him flying backwards in a burst of energy.

"That was sloppy. He's using that staff like a blade," came a tired voice from behind.

Rose turned to see Sol leaning against the door frame, holding a cup containing some sort of golden liquid.

"If not for that enchantment, he'd be dead by now. Just because you're a master of one weapon doesn't mean you're a master with them all. Sir William should've stuck with his sword and shield."

"Any other insightful commentary or are you going to say something useful for a change?" Gnarl said.

Sol sighed, pushed herself away from the door and watched the images in the pool of water. Kaern had gotten back to his feet and was facing Sir William again.

"Keep him busy and distracted, then have your greens attack his back."

Kaern rushed the hero again, who swung his staff at his neck, a lot like a sword Rose noticed. Kaern ducked, avoiding the strike, and swung his own weapon at his unprotected side. The blade connected, but the chain mail armor hidden beneath the cloth robes protected against a great deal of the damage. He was injured, but not gravely so.

Sir William brought up the bottom end of his staff, again striking the Overlord in chest. The magic blast sent him backwards, his armor dented from the strike. Kaern sent a blast of fire out of his palm, but the hero held up his staff like a shield and where flames hit they were dispersed.

So focused was he on the immediate threat of the fire, he didn't notice the small group of greens sneaking up behind him. Making good use of the distraction, they jumped onto his unsuspecting back and slashed with with metal claws. The chain mail was protecting him from a lot, but under the green's relentless assault even its metal links would be torn to shreds.

Sir William lifted his staff high, then slammed the but into the ground. The shock wave knocked the greens flying, but bloody trails had been clawed into his back and his armor was a mangled mess.

Another blast of fire, this one he was unprepared for and his red cloak was set aflame. He screamed and tried to tear off the garment in a panic. Kaern stepped forwards and plunged his sword straight through his body with one, powerful stabbing strike.

_My name is KAERN!_ The Overlord yelled as Sir William's lifeless corpse fell to the ground.

Wow. He was quite sensitive about his name, wasn't he?

A green minion fished a key out of the charred remains of Sir William's cloak and handed it to the Overlord. Taking the staff with him, Kaern headed back to the ornate doors and fit the key in the lock. The doors swung open and Velvet, with her perfect features, her ebony hair as black as a raven's wing, her flawless complexion and her enchanting silver eyes lounged on her bed with in a luxurious dark purple dress. Gods, just looking at her sister filled her with annoyance and no small amount of jealousy.

And then Rose's eyes landed on the silver chain around her neck where a large, ornate ring was strung. Rose recognized that ring. It was their father's, passed down through the family for generations. As eldest, it was rightfully belonged to Rose, but their father always said that age would never decide who got the ring, merit would. The success of the mission Rose was given would have earned her that ring, everyone knew it, Rose, Velvet and father. And yet, here she was with it clearly displayed...

"Well hello... dark stranger. The rumors do not do you justice," Velvet said with a seductive smile. "You've brought me a gift... some little pixies? You really shouldn't have! Next time make it something shiny and expensive. N ow... let me thank you properly."

What was she doing here with father's ring? Unless... No! He couldn't have! Father must have faith in Rose, faith that she would complete her mission. Yes, things had been moving a bit slower than planned, and there had been a few set backs, but surely he wouldn't have sent Velvet to replace her?

"She's obviously fine," Rose said quickly. "She can find her own way out."

"Ooh! She's quite the tasty treat, Sire!"

Rose smacked Gnarl across the back of the head, much to Sol's delight.

"Gnarl, go to your corner! I'm going down there to sort this out!"

Rose rushed over to the Tower Gate and into the city of Heaven's Peak. She dreaded what she would find when she reached Velvet's room. Velvet had always taken everything from, leaving her as the boring other sister. She was like a twisting weed, strangling the flowering rose and leaving it wilted and dying. Did she already have her hooks in Kaern? Would he abandon Rose like so many others had under Velvet's influence? It would seen even father had lost all interest in her and was now sending Velvet to replace her in her mission.

Rose was fighting back tears by the time she made it outside Velvet's room. Everything she had, everything she had worked for was about to be taken away, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her mother, her father, her so-called friends, all lost interest in Rose when the beautiful Velvet was around. Why would Kaern be any different? Still, she would not stand meekly by. The least Rose could do was try, no matter how hopeless it all seemed.

Rose put on a face of utter confidence and threw the doors open. She walked in with what she hoped was a seductive sway. Thankfully, Kaern was still standing near the door away from Velvet, but how long until he fell under her charm and was all over her?

"Come to play the concerned big sister? Come to spoil my fun, have you? And just as my rescuer and I were about to become better acquainted."

Velvet played with the ring strung around her neck as she spoke, giving Rose a mocking smile.

"Sir William summoned an over-sexed demon, started a city wide plague and now he's dead. I can see why you might be emotional, but stay out of my business!"

"Him? Oh, he was overcompensating, believe me. The only reason I was with him in the first place was because father thought it would be a good match. And now you've come along, my black knight, mmmm..."

So there it was. Rose caught the hidden message in Velvet's words. Father had sent her to Sir William to give her the opportunity to meet the Overlord and replace Rose. There was no doubt now, and Rose felt a growing sense of helplessness.

"You should know, Sire, that while you were out, I found a way to strengthen your blue and brown minions."

"Common bribery, Rose? I thought that was beneath you. Very well, if you want to play that game, I know of a way to strengthen your red and greens minions."

That was Rose's only hope, to give Kaern something only she could give so that he would keep her. Now, after that, there was nothing Rose could offer. He was going to choose Velvet, and Rose was going to be left with nothing. No one ever chose Rose. Ever.

After a long moment of silence, Kaern finally spoke.

_If you were anyone other than my mistress's sister, you would be dead._

"What?!" All the confidence and seduction Velvet had been putting behind her words were gone, replaced by utter confusion and surprise. Rose was feeling the same, but did her best to hide it.

_Did you honestly think I would ever choose the fianc__ée of the man who tried to kill me not moments ago over the mistress who has been useful and trustworthy from the very beginning? That I could be so easily swayed by a pretty face? I would kill you for that insult if not for the sister you are so quick to betray._

No one had ever stood up for Rose, especially when Velvet was involved. Not even her own family. Now, the man she was supposed to spy on, the man her father had continually called evil, was picking her over Velvet.

"You'll be sorry," Velvet managed to sputter as they left. "She'll nag you to death."


	16. Sol and the Followers

**This is a really long chapter for me, but was actually quite easy to write. If anything needs clarification, just ask, and be sure to review!**

Sol was afraid.

This was not a feeling she was accustomed to. If anything, Sol had thought she had left fear in the past, that it no longer applied to her. Sure, she could be startled, shocked, worried and so on, but this cold, ever present, debilitating fear?

When was the last time she had truly been afraid? That was an easy question, for that moment had been seared into her memory, never to be forgotten during her incredibly long life. It had been when she had looked into her brother's eyes and seen the madness within, when she had truly realized that he would do achieve his twisted goals.

Sol hated being afraid, hated feeling so helpless. There was nothing she could do to escape the feeling completely. How do you fight an emotion? So she tried the age old tradition of drinking your troubles away.

Heaven's Peak had been recovering quickly over the past two weeks since Sir William had been killed, his staff displayed alongside Melvin's crown as trophies back at the Tower . The Overlord easily took control of the city with no resistance, and was currently consolidating his power before he continued with his conquests. His armor had been repaired, his minions were better equipped than ever before and the valuables taken from the city had gone a long way in restoring the Dark Tower to its former glory at long last.

They would be heading back to Evernight soon, either tomorrow or the day after. So Sol had decided to spend the last of her free time at the Broken Shield Inn in Heaven's Peak, not nearly as nice a place as the Halfway to Heaven Inn but there was no way she was ever going back there.

So far, the plan to drown her fear was not going well. It wasn't helped by the fact she was constantly reminded of it. What was it, exactly, that she was afraid of? She had no name for it, didn't even know what it was exactly, and that unknown was making it that much worse.

It was the heat, the fire she had felt. It had freed her from the succubus' influence then faded, but ever so slowly it had come back. Not strongly, mind you, but its presence was clearly there as a constant companion. Uncomfortable, but bearable. It was like a collar tied around her throat, able to be ignored at most times but chaffing whenever she turned her head.

Yes, a collar. That's what it was. Perhaps a leash, for it confined her as surely as any chain. When Sol had first become aware of its existence, she had experimented to try and determine what it was. She had quickly found out that any thoughts of rebellion against the Overlord, no matter how minor, would cause the heat to spike painfully, often excruciatingly so. When she had entertained the notion of simply leaving the Dark Tower and these lands far behind her, moving on and starting new elsewhere, she had become physically ill. Whatever the heat was, whatever its origins, she was now bound in service to the Overlord and there was no escaping it.

And that terrified her.

Freedom was what Sol valued most, and now that had been taken from her. She had decided to serve the Overlord, had decided to follow his commands, but always thought she would be able to decide to leave. It wasn't as if she had been planning to any time in the near future, but the choice had always been there. And now it wasn't and Sol didn't know how to handle that.

So she drank, then drank some more. The heat wasn't going away, she could still feel it as clearly as ever, but her capacity to care was steadily being diminished and 'so what' became the answer to all her problems. Sol would have to follow all the Overlord's commands or she'd be in excruciating pain. So what? Sol no longer had the ability to leave the Overlord's service whenever she wished. So what? Sol was now at the mercy of someone devoted to the cause of evil. So what?

And then a black garbed man entered the room and Sol's day was well and completely ruined.

A small, glass orb rested in his hands, pulsing a violent red. He scanned the room, disgust evident in his exotic features. When his green eyes, the iris ovals instead of circles, landed on Sol, they filled with relief and he made his way over, not even looking at the humans around them as if so much as glancing at the believed lesser race would taint him. The four coloured symbol of the Wanderers stood out starkly against his black tabard.

"The Council of Followers calls upon you, Sol," he immediately said.

"What for?" Sol asked, her thoughts circling rapidly.

"A… situation has arisen, and the Council requests your immediate presence. You must come with me now back to the others so we may leave this foul place." He said the last part with a sneer, and Sol knew he didn't mean the inn. Any place not under direct control of the Followers and inhabited by any other race was considered horrible, unclean and not to be entered if it could be avoided.

This was not good. Sol had stopped being a "good" Wandered not long after she had been officially inducted into the order. While they were technically allowed to go just about anywhere and do their jobs however they saw fit, it was expected they would stay in Follower controlled colonies and travel back and forth between them to keep ties and ensure their safety from any outside threat. For longer than most Followers had been alive, Sol had been "scouting new territories". Since Wanderers worked independently and at their own discretion, the Council couldn't do much about it, no matter how much they wished to. From time to time, someone would be sent to call her back for some special assignment or another ("special" meaning some crappy job no one else wanted), to check up on her activities or with the hope she would refuse the order and give them a reason to throw her out of the order, Sol was unsure.

These assignments had become fewer and fewer as time went on, until the Council had just decided to try and forget her existence all together. It was a source of shame and embarrassment that one of their own would associate with the lesser races. It had been close to twenty years before a Wanderer had come to find her with the glass orb in hand. Underneath the Grand Citadel back at the Follower's homeland, there was a room stacked with such orbs, one for each Wanderer. They were attuned to the Wanderer's life energy, as unique as a fingerprint, and would right to them wherever they may be.

"What others?" Sol asked. There had ever only been one sent to find her all the times before.

"Recent events have made the Council weary. They thought sending a group would be prudent. Now, we must go."

He turned to leave, expecting her to follow. And why wouldn't she? Sol may have been a disgrace as far as every other member of her race was concerned, but she had never given any reason to doubt her loyalty before. When they called, she answered, even if she complained the whole time.

But now she couldn't go, not with whatever magic that was constraining her. As Sol followed the man, her sworn brother even if they had never met before, she flipped through her options.

Usually if such a thing happened, she would just go immediately, maybe give a goodbye or two if she was particularly fond of those she had met, which wasn't often. But the heat would never let her leave like that without the Overlord's consent.

Sol could refuse the orders, but that would only delay the problem. The Council would jump at the chance to strip her of her Wanderer title. Sol would be dragged back, kicking and screaming to the Grand Citadel for a trial. Only Wanderers could travel between lands without permission, permission that would never be granted to her. Sol was more than capable of creating a portal by herself, but that would be considered a grave crime that endangered the whole of the Follower's Empire, and she's be hunted down ruthlessly. Only execution or exile to a land without magic waited down that path.

Or, she could explain her situation. The Council wouldn't stand the thought that one of their own could be enslaved (Sol cringed at the word, but it was the truth. For all intents and purposes, she was a slave.). That such a magic existed would terrify them, and they wouldn't stop until a way to reverse it was found.

The heat stirred painfully as she thought about it. No, she couldn't do that. The Council would send an army of Followers of Aetherya to destroy the Tower and its occupants, for it was obvious something there was the cause. She would never get halfway through an explanation before the heat reduced her to a screaming wreck.

There was only one option left.

"Where are the others waiting?" Sol asked when they were on the road outside the city.

"In an abandoned cabin to the north east, outside of the swamp."

"How many?"

"You will see when we get there."

Sol sighed. She had hoped to know what exactly to expect, but she would just have to improvise. With rapid motions, she pulled a dagger from its sheathe and grabbed a hold of her guide. Before she could slice open his throat, a small knife, shining like silver, slashed deeply across her arm, cutting right through her leather armor.

The nameless Wanderer fell to the ground, his life draining from his cut throat. Sol inspected her wounded arm. The whole limb felt numb and weak, draining the energy from her. Cursing, she quickly pulled a small vial from one of the many pockets on her cuirass and poured the golden liquid within over the injury. It stung, and the numbness and weakness receded to be replaced by sharp pain. Sol wound some bandages around the wound to stop the bleeding, and then picked up the small blade.

The reason it shone like silver was because it was silver. Or, more specifically, a special type of silver. Aetheryian Silver was extremely rare, only found in the smallest of increments, not to mention highly illegal. Whenever any was ever found, it was immediately taken to the Grand Cathedral by a heavily armed guard to be securely stored away, since no method of destroying it had ever been discovered. The reason for this was because it had the unique ability to completely negate a Follower's magic and temporarily drain them of their ability to use it, yet. And that was only after momentary contact. Sol could remember during the Forsworn's War, shavings of Aetheryian Silver had been added into civilian water supplies. Many were killed. It was a material toxic to Followers, yet had no effect whatsoever on any other race.

So how had this Wanderer gotten a knife with an Aetheryian Silver blade? The first answer that came to mind was that he got it illegally, but that would be nearly impossible to keep hidden for any length of time, and someone would have noticed if any of the metal had gone missing. So, the next answer was that the Council gave it to him. But why? The metal was only useful against other Followers. Were they expecting for Sol to give him trouble? Maybe everyone who had ever come to get her had carried such a blade, just in case she turned on them.

Sol stored the knife in a pocket. It could come in handy when taking out the others. She took no joy in the prospect; it actually left her feeling sick, to be honest. But it had to be done. With a heavy heart, she headed north east.

…

The cabin had been easy to find. Sol watched from a distance away, hidden in the tree line. It was a small, one storey building made of ageing wood turned a faded grey from exposure and time. Night had fallen, and a merry fire burned within. Silhouettes passed in front of the small, glassless window, the shutters having been thrown wide open in the warm night.

Sol snuck close in. She had been running scenarios through her mind, and had decided that the best course of action was to simply set the building aflame. Away from the ever damp swamps, it was rather dry and the wood would catch fire quickly. Any who managed to escape outside would be killed by Sol while they were coughing up smoke and unable to defend themselves.

But first, Sol needed information. Why were so many sent to collect her? What had gotten the Council so on edge?

So she snuck up to the cabin and crouched below the window and listened. After a few minutes of useless conversation, it turned interesting.

"Why are we here in this miserable excuse of a world fetching some washed up Wanderer? What makes her so important? We need every able body right now to help protect the Homeland, not chasing after good for nothing Ageless!" a voice said, young and female.

"You are right, we need every able body, including Sol." This voice was quite a bit older, more experienced and male.

"This one is more trouble than she's worth! She has no respect for her people or her heritage, running about with humans and elves and Aetherya knows who else!"

"You're wrong, there. Sol is more experienced in war than you can possibly imagine. True, her character is severely flawed, but she's powerful. My grandfather used to tell me stories of when he was a boy, still just an acolyte, and the Grand Tournament. This was back when Sol still returned to the Homeland every couple of years, not yet the embarrassment she is now. Sol entered the Magicka Duel competition-"

"The Magicka Duel?"

"The sport was banned years ago," came a third voice, a middle aged woman from the sound of it. "Serious injury was frequent, accidental death common. You can blunt a weapon, but not magic. The only rule was that the fight continued until a fighter was knocked out or admitted defeat."

"Right," the man continued. "The sky was lit up with the display of magic. Weapons clashed, spells were cast until only Sol and a Follower of Aetherya was left. Big as a giant, he was, wielded a massive warhammer and had a mastery of magic unheard of for a member of his order. The fight just went on and on. Sol was eventually named champion, though."

"What, she heroically defeated him?" the younger woman said sarcastically. Was the idea that Sol was so capable that hard to believe?

"No, actually. The fight went on so long and so much magic was used that the warrior just collapsed with exhaustion. But Sol just walked out of there calmly and confidently like nothing had happened."

That wasn't completely true. Sol remembered that fight, and what a fight it was! The damned hammer of his almost crushed her countless times, and she had spent most of the time dancing out of the way and firing off magic whenever she could. When he had finally fallen, Sol had managed to walk out of the arena, but had collapsed herself the moment she was out of sight of the crowd. Her hands had been covered with magicka burns and she was bed ridden for days afterwards.

"Whatever. I still think we should just leave her. It's been decades since then, and there's no guarantee she can still fight."

"The Council doesn't want her for her fighting skills!" the man laughed. "They want her for her age. She was around during the first war, and she knows the enemy better than anyone."

Wait, what war? What enemy? That could mean a lot of things! Sol had been around so long, had fought so many, it was impossible to tell what exactly he was talking about. It had to be big, though, and pose significant risk to the Followers.

The young woman snorted. "Who knows if her memories are still dependable? Or if _she's_ dependable, for that matter. It was a long time ago, and the Ageless are all crazy!"

Sol resented that statement, but in reality, it was easy to see why someone would believe that. There were only four Ageless still alive, including Sol. Erik was the oldest, ironically also technically the youngest, being eternally stuck at the age of twelve. He lived alone in a small hut in an isolated forest, completely paranoid and terrified of other people. But Sol could understand that, considering he had lived through the Purges, when any Ageless were hunted down and burned alive. The unknown is easily feared, and that feeling can quickly turn to hate. The Purges had ended generations before Sol's own birth, but an experience like that left deep emotional scars.

The youngest was Elyssa who stopped ageing when she was seventeen, a little over two hundred years ago. She was a Follower of Kyfor and an accomplished artist. She was also very… out there. Eccentric was an apt word to describe her.

As for the fourth, well… Sol didn't like to think about Toby.

"What are you doing?"

Sol jumped at the voice and whirled around to face a thin, wiry, young man in dark green and brown clothing. Definitely a Follower of Dazen.

"I was… You can never be too careful in land not populated by the Followers. I was making sure it was truly Followers inside and not human bandits," Sol lied. The easiest way to convince a member of her race of anything was to mention how they were superior. Nothing else mattered once they heard that.

"Yes. You can never be too careful with savages. The only thing they can be counted on for is betrayal and violence, nothing like Followers. Why you insist on staying in their lands is baffling."

Oh, the irony. The others in side were alerted by their voices, so Sol had no choice but to follow the Dazen inside. It was not a good idea to try and take them all on at once, not without knowing their capabilities.

Inside, there were two Followers of Aetherya wearing bright steel armor and blue tabards. One was a man, tall and broadshouldered that looked to be in his late fifties but still was strong and healthy and carried a longsword and shield. The other was a woman in her twenties, homely and heavily muscled with a greatsword on her back. She stared at Sol with no small amount of dislike and disgust. But there was no suspicion, however. None of them expected one of their own race, even one as looked down upon as Sol, to betray them.

The cabin's third occupant was a Follower of Jezzin, wearing a bright yellow robe. In her mid-forties, she still had a delicate beauty. Sol felt a stab of regret and guilt at the sight of her. The Followers of Jezzin were healers, and went against their code to ever harm another being. This didn't mean they were weak or pushovers, however. Back in her early days, Sol had once seen a member if the order, wrinkled and hands gnarled with age, block the entrance of the sick tent with her body, as if only her willpower and belief of purpose could protect its occupants from the army attacking the refugee camp. She had been cut down, but she hadn't falters and no speck of fear had clouded the determination in her eyes as she tried to stare down the attacking soldiers. The thought of killing the healing gave Sol a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she would do what needed to be done.

But that didn't mean she'd like, and her guilt was intensified when the healer jumped up at the sight of Sol's wounded arm.

"What happened?" she exclaimed, rushing over. "You really shouldn't be hanging around the lesser races! They'll kill you for the clothes on your back!"

"Where's Delcin?" the young Aetherya demanded.

"I had to retrieve some gear before I left, so he told me where to go and we split up. I'd have thought he'd be here by now."

"He was told to stay with you until we returned to the Homeland."

"Stop with the interrogation, Marie!" the healer stepped in. "We all know Delcin is headstrong. No matter how many times you tell him, he never listens! Always doing things his own way, but he's a good man at heart. Now, let's see to this injury."

The healer led Sol to what must have been a bedroom at one time and the only other room in the small cabin. The healer's equipment was there, and she rummaged through her bags until she found a flask of golden liquid. It was the same liquid Sol had poured on the wound earlier and was known as Jezzin's nectar. Drinking it was like getting electricity shot through your veins, instantly rejuvenating, speeding up healing and curing many poisons as well as giving magic power a strong boost. It was also extremely strong had to be diluted down a great deal after its initially brewed or it could cause one's heart to give out, especially if one isn't a Follower.

The deep wound on Sol's arm was once again washed out with the stinging concoction, ensuring no infection would take hold there. Then she pressed her hands on either side of the injury, and the area crackled with blue sparks as she began to magically heal Sol. What a useful ability that would be, but sadly Sol had never been gifted with the ability to heal. That was a rare gift, even among the ranks of the Followers of Jezzin, where many had to rely on more traditional, less effective methods, helped along with a few sparks of what little ability they had.

Despite the magic being poured onto it, the wound refused to close. The healer removed her hands, mystified.

"What could cause…" she began, then realization dawned on her, followed by horror.

"Only Aetheryian silver could create an injury immune to my healing. Declin carried the only such weapon released by the Council-"

The healer's words were cut off in a gurgle. It was lucky for Sol that she had been so shocked and hadn't thought to shout. Sol wrapped the wound in bandages, cleaned off her dagger and calmly left the room.

"The healer is feeling a little tired after using such a draining ability, and decided to rest until Delcin returns," Sol announced. It was true that healing was notoriously difficult and required a large amount of energy. At least that was true when it came to the Followers. Blue minions never seemed to have much trouble.

They accepted Sol's explanation without a word. None of them, not even the young Follower of Aetherya, was suspicious. It was such an alien concept to them. No Follower would ever betray the Empire. Only the lesser races turn on each other. Sol wished they would doubt her, even if that would make everything that much more difficult. Maybe then she wouldn't be feeling such raging guilt.

But this had to be done. Sol could leave no one who may bring word back to the Homeland. With the tracking orb destroyed, it could take a long time before anyone found her. And, if whatever had the Council so stirred up was serious enough, they might even decide to forget about her after this group never comes back. They would have bigger things to worry about then Sol.

Now Sol had to come up with a new plan of getting rid of the others. The Followers of Aetherya were the biggest threats, but if the Follower of Dazen managed to escape into the trees, Sol would never find him again. Sol could be stealthy, but Dazens and Hartwyns were unreal. If Sol was to ensure no one survived to tell the Council of the betrayal, then he had to die first.

Hmm… if she were to were throw one of her throwing knives at him… No, he was a trained hunter. His instincts were far too good to risk that, his reflexes far too sharp. He'd dodge, then he'd be gone.

What if she were to get close, then stab him with a dagger? That could work. His order doesn't focus on close combat, so he'd go down quickly enough. That would leave her with a few seconds before the others react. Enough time to throw a knife. The man would be the better target. The other, Marie was too on guard, her reflexes sharper in with her youth, would react quicker. Sol would be more likely to make a killing shot on the man. Then she would be left with only the young woman…

It all goes exactly to plan. A dagger to the Dazen's side, shock filling his eyes. Sol had a knife out before his body hit the floor and threw it at the other man, too surprised to do much more than stare. He was dead in an instant when the knife entered his neck.

Of course, the last opponent was much more difficult.

Marie charged towards Sol, fury and hate distorting her features. Her greatsword was already in her hands, and she swung it with surprising speed and agility despite its weight and size.

Sol thrust a hand outwards, sending a barrier rocketing towards the warrior. She stopped in her tracks, but was able to resist the force and wasn't sent flying back as Sol had intended. She had forgotten just how strong the Followers of Aetherya were.

And then the warrior revealed her own magic. Sparks danced across her body, thickening then solidifying to form thick plates. A Magical armor covered her steel one, forming an impenetrable defensive layer. Then sparks spread to cover her sword, turning an already lethal weapon into an electrified instrument of death.

Shit. Sol really should've killed her first.

New plan: Evade and try not to die.

Sol ran out the door of the cabin and into the open. The warrior followed, taking out a sizable chunk of doorframe and wall in the process. She didn't even seem to notice.

_Run, run, run, run, run!_ Sol screamed mentally screamed at herself.

This was a lot like that day back in the arena, fighting that mountain of a man for the title of tournament champion. He had had similar magical abilities, but he had been distracted, his magical armor fading in and out. This one, so consumed with anger and grief, was completely focused on the goal of reducing Sol to a bloody pulp. Her magical armor was much stronger without any gaps to exploit, her weapon carrying enough electricity to fry a person.

Sol was out of ideas. Her throwing knives would never get through, neither would her daggers, her staff might but only if she tried stabbing it right through and putting a lot of energy behind the strike, but that would leave her open to attack and wasn't a sure thing. Only one hit of that greatsword would mean the end of Sol.

She could think of no way, no clever plan or special weapon-

Wait a second… Aetheryian Silver could cut through magical armor like butter… But how to get close enough?

Sol reached the tree line with the warrior only a short few steps behind her. To buy herself some time, Sol planted a hasty barrier in the ground beneath her foot, and when her pursuer stepped on it, sent it flying upwards.

Marie fell but was on her feet seconds later, issuing a blood thirsty roar. Sol did manage to put a greater distance between them and used it to climb a sturdy looking tree with the help of a small barrier used like a spring board.

The enraged warrior, unable to climb while burdened with armor and sword, pummeled the tree with her fists and banged against it with her sword. This would have been a fruitless effort for just about anyone else, but for this woman, so filled with rage and fueled with magic, the tree shook and trembled under the onslaught.

Remember how Sol thought that fear no longer applied to her? Well, at that moment, she took that back.

"This is a really stupid idea," Sol muttered to herself, then jumped down from the safety of the tree's high branches.

She landed on the warrior's armored back, but one touch from the Aetheryian Silver knife dispelled the blue plating. Sol pressed the blade against her now unprotected throat, just hard enough to draw a few drops of blood.

Marie groaned in pain as her energy was sucked out through the knife. Such metal exposed and held in any Follower's bloodstream would leave them weak. Marie was no longer able to hold up her massive sword and it fell from stiff fingers. She wasn't even able to bear the weight of her steel armor and Sol on her back, so she fell to her knees.

It was scary to witness such a transformation, and so quickly as well. There was a reason the Council kept the metal hidden and out of potential enemy hands. It was rather fortunate that it only effected Followers, because whenever other races happened upon the stuff while mining, it was taken for regular silver and used it for ornaments and jewelry, or decided the deposit was too small to be worth the effort of refining.

Sol could have killed her right then, but she had a few questions.

"Are there any others out looking for me?" she demanded.

"Burn in Hell, traitor."

More pressure was applied to the knife, and Marie hissed in pain.

"Are there any others out looking for me?" Sol repeated.

"… No."

"Why were you sent?"

There was a long pause before Marie tilted her head back slightly to look Sol in the eye and answered.

"Toby has been sighted, and I hope he finds you before the Council does. Whatever sick ideas his twisted mind can come up with would be a fitting punishment for you, traitor."

With that, Marie jerked her head down forcefully, cutting her own throat. At that point, Sol didn't even care. Her mind had frozen at Toby's name.

It all made sense now. Delcin would have been given the knife in case he ran into him, for of course Toby would be looking for Sol. And as for the abnormally large group, there was safety in numbers. Toby was considered the biggest threat to the Follower Empire, even after his army had been destroyed at the end of the Forsworn's War. Even the most suspect of Toby sightings would have the Council calling on every person they could, just in case. And of course they would want Sol as soon as possible, for who knew Toby better?

After all this time, Sol's foster brother was making himself known, and it was only a matter of time before he came looking for her.


	17. Sol and the Tree

_"Search for the truth, Sol. The past often becomes the future."_

Had Mortis been trying, in his own cryptic way, to warn Sol of what would happen? It wouldn't have killed him to just come out and say 'you will be forced to follow all of the Overlord's orders on pain of being burned from the inside out." Of course, Sol could have been wrong and Mortis meant something else entirely. She really should have put more effort into finding that book.

At the moment, however, Sol was finding it difficult to muster up the motivation to do anything. Deep in the tunnels beneath the Tower, she sat with her feet dangling over the side of a steep fissure, an underground river rushing by far below. Her Kyfor wood staff, as smooth and cool as metal, held in her hands as she absent mindedly twisted the mechanism back and forth to release and retract the blades over and over again with a soft click, barely audiable over the sound of rushing water.

How long had it been since she had seen Toby? That would have been soon after the fall of Ussand, right before the destruction of Sarn. A whole realm destroyed because of the delusions of a madman. That had been centuries ago and Sol doubted he had gotten any better in that time. He had been far too consumed by madness and obsession for it to have just faded away.

He would come looking for her, his dear little sister. To Toby's twisted mind, everything he did, all the pain he had caused was for the best for Sol. He had killed those who were 'turning her against him'. He had held her prisoner in order to 'purge the poison from her mind'. He had started the Forsworn's War to destroy the system he held responsible for everything.

Toby had failed back then. When Sarn was destroyed, utterly purged from existance without a trace save for the odd ripple disrupting the unstable portal made by Wanderers in training, most of his army went with it. But now, after having centuries to prepare, Toby was ready to try again.

The good news, though, was that he would assume Sol to be in one of the Follower's cities, most likely the Homeland itself. Toby had been gone before Sol had started to roam, so he would expect her to be sticking close to home and awaiting orders like a good little Wanderer. How proud he would be to see her turned against them. Hadn't that always been his goal? No, Toby had always wanted to control Sol as he had when she was a little girl, worshipping her older brother. He would see this as a step forward, but he wouldn't be satisfied until she was completely under his thumb.

Toby wouldn't be searching for Sol ouside of Follower controled lands. Even if he did, the chances of him finding her were virtually zero. There was literally an infinite number of worlds out there traversable by exhausting to create portals. Sol had destroyed her tracking orb and a personal item would be needed to make another one. Plenty of her things hd been left at her seldom used apartment in the Homeland, but not one of them would work. It had been years since she had last touched them, and they were all objects used out of necesity without any personal meaning, attachment or worth. One of her daggers, carried into countless battles and like an extension of herself? Certainly. An old steak knife she used to cut food? No way. A piece of her armor, trusted to protect her from harm and almost like a second skin? Definately. A threadbare shirt stuffed in a drawer for years? Never.

There was virtually no chance anyone would stumble upon her out here, even with her rather conspicuous status. Really, Sol should have been more concerned about the Followers. They may not be aware of what Sol did, but they would eventually send someone to find out what had happened to the group they had already sent. Sure, their bodies were now charred bones in the remains of that cabin, but they would piece it together eventually. They might not have a tracking orb, but they would have kept a record of where the group was sent. Hopefully they would be to preoccupied with Toby to bother sending out a search party, but that was only a slim hope. The Followers liked to keep close track of their people.

So why was Sol so concerned about Toby instead?

Sol sighed. Torturing herself with these thoughts wold get her nowhere. Best to focus on something a bit more relevant to the present. Something she could actually do something about. To be more precise: Rose.

Sure, the Overlord's mistress proposed an alliance, one that Sol had agreed to. But that didn't mean she trusted Rose. Not at all. Sol had seen her around the Tower, taken note of her actions. Rose never did anything without a plan, so what was her plan when she arrived at the Tower?

So Sol had taken steps to root out the perfectionist's secrets as subtlely as possible.

Sol got to her feet and traversed the tunnels back up to the Tower proper, now much easier to navigate. Before, even the building itself knew she didn't belong, but now it welcomed her presence. It was just one of many changes Sol had noticed, and it made her nervous. The shift with the minions was the most noticable, all of the hostility she was so accustomed to gone. Except with the blues, of course. They were as hateful and petty as ever, and the fact that Sol was relieved about that was evidence to just how unsettled Sol was by it all.

Sol passed through the Throne Room, now adorned with guardian statues along the walls, chimera statues and fire bowls around the ornate imperial throne and a lush red carpet with a golden border leading up to the throne. The valuables looted from Angelis Keep had gone a long way and it was now safe to say the Tower was back to its former glory.

Sol walked down a deserted hallway into a part of the Tower rarely used. In a musty, dust filled room, one of the slave girls worked to clean up the old tables, chairs and other furniture stored in the room that had somehow escaped the looting and vandalism over three years ago.

This one was named Anna, a plain looking farm girl no different from the others, except for surprising intelligence. All the rest of them were frightened mice scurrying about their days with heads down as they tried to gain as little attention and notice as possible. This one was no less scared of the Tower's occupants, but she was able to see the benefit in making herself particularly useful to one of her betters. She was wlling to look past any hatred and resesment she had for Sol if that meant some measure of protection and security. And so Anna readily did as Sol asked without question or mentioning it to any other, such as ratting her out to a certain minion master or even letting something slip to one of the other girls. Sol had briefly considered that Anna may have been working as a sort of double agent, but quickly dismissed the idea. Other than the Overlord himself (who was rather oblivious to the quiet conflict in the Tower and wouldn't think to use her), the girls were much more scared of Sol, their original captor, than any other in the Tower. Besides, Gnarl was far too sure of himself and believed just about every human to be incompetant, and Rose, with her highborn upbringing (it may have never actually been said but it was fairly obvious) was conditioned to view servants as invisible and not worth noticing, so it was doubtful they would think to use the slaves.

Sol didn't say anything, just scanned the room for any unwanted guests then stood in the doorway facing out into the hall with her back to the girl and leaned against the doorframe. It was very important no one saw her alone with the slave without a quickly obvious and viable reason. If others began to suspect that Anna reported to Sol, she would be useless.

"Anything new?"

"M'Lady, I-"

"I've already told you what would happen if you kept calling me 'Lady'."

"I'm sorry m'La- I'm sorry. It won't happen 'gen. I'm ain't sure if this is 'portant, but Lady Rose stopped goin' into that room. The one with the basin."

Well, this was new. Every four days since Rose had arrived in the Tower, she would climb up to an unused room near the top of the Tower, lock the door and stay inside for some time. No sound could be heard from within, and when the room had been later searched nothing had been found within except a small, worn table and a cracked basin of water. Sol had tried searching the room, and discovered a faint trace of magic around the basin. Lengths had been taken to hide the magic, but Sol was very well trained and sensitive to such things.

"When was the last time she used the room?"

"'Bout fifteen days ago."

Huh. That put it just before the death of Sir William. What could this mean? Sol had theorized that Rose was perhaps scrying something or someone. It was possible she was sending out messages, but Sol didn't want to say anything to anyone in case the Overlord was aware of what Rose was doing and it was nothing traitorous. That would only result in Sol's own loyalty being brought into question after haveing spied on others in the Tower.

Footsteps coming from down the hall. No time to hear anything else from Anna. Sol straightened and walked down the hall in the direction of the sound. Sol hoped that would make it seem more like she had nothing to hide, much less suspicious of a view of her fleeing back.

She passed a motley group of minions, a mix of reds and browns. Sol reflexively braced herself, but they passed without incident and actually moved a little to the side to let her pass easily. She was still getting used to that whole thing.

Sol felt a ripple touch her mind carrying alien feelings. Eagerness and impatience coupled with a dose of annoyance. Sol immediately turned and headed back to the Throne Room.

Similarly to how the minions were comanded during battle, Sol had begun to receive 'orders' in the form of emotions and half finished ideas. She was ninety nine percent sure they were involuntary and the Overlord had no idea he was sending them out. Every other command was given with the 'speaking' telepathy everyone else heard while only Sol felt the ripples and so far they only told her when the Overlord was looking for her or when he something was _really _annoying him.

No doubt he was ready to finish what they had started in Evernight.

...

The blues were easily able to swim down and find the last node holding up the shield protecting Oberon, though it took them quite a while to actually destroy it. Brawn is worth more than brain from time to time.

With the last root twisting and withering in its death throes, an evil horde of war crying minions ran to face the fallen Elven hero behind his failing barrier, rippling and shuddering before disapering completely.

Oberon yawned and streatched his bark covered arms, the lower half of his body completely enveloped in the massive tree. Small tendrils under the skin of his bare chest could be seen pulsing and wreathing though the hero seemed completely unaware of the vegetation slowly taking over his body, or perhaps he simply didn't care. Then again, he was an Elf. Becoming a tree might be their greatest wish. Sol wouldn't have put it past the tree huggers to dream of something like that.

"Once I deserted my people, my forest, and I have been punished," Oberon said in a resounding voice, vocalized and telepathic at the same time and a delayed echo seemed to come from the surrounding trees and plantlife. "I will not desert them again!"

Really? After destroying just about the whole forest he thought killing them woulf redeem homself? That tree really must have burrowed deep in his brain.

So, giant killer tree. How is that supposed to fight? What, was he planning on shedding leaves until they died? This should be a laugh.

With an inhuman roar, Oberon lifted his arms to the sky and the ground began to rumble. Sol barely had time to wonder what was going on before a giant, twisted root burst from the earth in a shower of dirt and rock. it emerged from directly below the main bulk of the minion horde, killing many instantly and dragging others back down into the dark underground.

Ok, giant killer tree. How the Hell are you supposed to fight a tree?!

The Overlord shot out a stream of magcal fire from his hand aimed at the center of the tree were Oberon was encased. A thin shimmer of blue appeared in the air before the Elf, disappating the flames before they could case any harm. So the main barrier may have been down, but that didn't mean the tree didn't have enough juice to protect itself.

"You shall feel the suffering of Evernight! Every broken branch, every fallen leaf!"

Elves, always so dramatic. With another roar a second root emerged from the ground, decimating the blue minions. No great loss there in Sol's opinion, but they were running out of fighters. They had to find a way to kill this guy, but what could they do? Hire lumberjacks? Sol didn't exactly have much experience fighting trees and was spending most of her time trying to avoid tunneling roots.

Then the remaining browns ran up to climb the mass of tangled roots and bark at the tree's base to reach the upper, uncovered half of Oberon's body. With looted pikes, swords, primitive clubs and even fists, they attacked the Elf. The translucent blue barrier materialized just before the weapons could come in contact, but it was fading in power and wouldn't hold up much longer. He tried swatting them away with his bark covered hands, but his movements were slow and sluggish from all that time of inaction.

He roared, a sound that reverbrated in Sol's skull and the force of the mental scream made her flinch. Rat creatures carrying bows and blowpipes, manifestations of Oberon's tainted mind, scurried out from behind the tree. Those, at least, were things Sol actually knew how to fight.

Sol's own barriers deflected the rat creatures' projectiles, the darts and arrows coated with a thick green substance. Poison was only deadly if it could come in contact. The rats weren't made for melee combat and attempted to retreat, but Sol followed close behind and stabbed several in the back with her staff. One then turned, drawing two small knves made of sharpened rock lashed to a bit of wood with a piece of vine from the vine and tree bark sheathe across its chest.

It was an unexpected move that caught Sol by surprise. The knives slashed across the bottom of her leg, sinking slightly into her armor but the stone blade was not sharp enough to cut through the tough leather. The blade on Sol's staff sank easily through the rat's skull, however.

"Evernight is _my_ forest and I stand as its eternal guardian!"

The ground rumbled fiercely beneath Sol's feet. She jumped to the side but the edge of the emerging root hit her foot before she was clear. A multitude of thin yet strong tendrils wrapped around her foot and ankle.

"Oh, sh-"

With a cry Sol was yanked down into the earth.


	18. Sol and the Tomb Raider

Death by tree. Of all the ways to go, that had to be one of the most embarrasing. Sol could imagine sitting aroung the afterlife with a bunch of people talking about how they were killed in some epic battle or eaten by a mythical creature, and what would she say? "Yeah, I was killed by a tree. But it was magical, you see, and not nearly as pathetic as it sounds."

Sol could already hear them all laughing at her.

She was determined not to spend the rest of eternity being mocked by all the other dead souls. When Sol died, she planned on getting launched into the sun after a series of hilarious yet unlikely coincidences. Now _that_ death would make quite the story!

But back to the present.

Sol was being dragged ever downwards, surround by soil and rocks. There were clear moments when she was pulled through through tunnels in a shower of dirt, made by the roots previous passings she guessed.

She called on her power, focusing it within her into a single point of energy. She willed it downwards through her foot, burning the tendrils holding her. The root snapped away from Sol, dropping the Wanderer into a wide tunnel.

Like an angered snake the root reared back, a massive coil of writhing wood. Faster than Sol would have imagined possible, the root struck forwards, barely stopped in time with a summoned barrier.

The root pressed harder against the barrier. Sparks fizzled and popped on Sol's palms as she struggled to hold the magic in place. She was running out of strength fast, her power only good for fast, hard strikes and not prolonged ones. As the root continued to press down on her, the barrier became less and less effective. It was no longer holding back all the force of the attacking plant and Sol was slowly being crushed between the barrier and the tunnel floor.

Suddenly, there was a roar from somewhere far above and the root recoiled, thrashing about as it whithered and blackened then finally died. And so it was that Oberon Greenhaze, fallen hero of Evernight, died.

For a few minutes, Sol did nothing but lay on the cold, damp floor of the tunnel, breathing heavily and completely drained of energy. When it came to using magic, Sol was a sprinter, not a marathon runner. She fumbled for one of the pockets on her cuirass and pulled out a small metal flask. She unscrewed the cap and poured a small amount of the golden liquid into it, and downed it.

Jezzin's nectar tasted disgusting. Far too sour with little grains like sand had been spilled in it. But the effects were well worth it. Strength returned to her, magic flooding her being. The crash later would suck, but right now Sol felt like she could take on the world.

She got to her feet and stood under the gaping hole she had been down. Far above she could see sunlight but had no way of getting to it.

"Hello!" Sol yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Still alive down here!"

Silence. She thought she could see figures standing around the hole's edge, but couldn't be sure.

Sol sighed, then looked down both ways of the tunnel. The walls seemed to glow with a greenish light, and it took her a second to realize they were covered in glow worms, but not any kind Sol was familiar with. Some new species brought on by the dreaming?

She stuck a finger in her mouth then held it up in the air. She thought she felt a slight breeze coming from one side, and a breeze meant the outside. At least she knew which way to go. Armed with that knowledge and with a goal in mind, Sol prepared herself to journey into the dark unknown...

...until something landed heavily on her back, sending her sprawling forwards.

"Green-Not-Green! The Master send Rhaeg to see if you die!"

"Get the Hell off you stench ridden bastard!"

The little green minion jumped off Sol's back and she got back to her feet. She glowered at the minion, Rhaeg, arms crossed and far from amused. He just looked up at her, seeming quite happy with the situation.

"Care to explain why you decided to jump on me?"

"Me go down hole, me no want to die so land on you. Softer than ground."

Sol rolled her eyes. Friggin' minions. Without another word, Sol turned and stormed down the tunnel,

After a while, a question nagged on Sol's mind.

"Green-Not-Green. What does it mean?"

"You never be minion, but you serve the Master. Not sure what that makes you. So call you Green-Not-Green."

"That made no sense to me at all."

Rhaeg looked over at her with what could only be called impatience, as if Sol were a child unable to understand a simple concept he was trying to explain.

"Don't know where you fit. Never before one like you. Minion but not minion. Pretend like you one, treat like one..." Rhaeg seemed to struggle to find the right words. "Not a part but act like are."

"Are you trying to say the greens adopted me?"

"Yes! 'Adopt'. Green-Not-Green, higher level. Above Giblet, below Gnarl. Think same as Mortis. Good for greens. Never have higher level green. Blues mad, Reds jealous, Browns no care."

"What brought this on? Not that long ago, every minion was out to get me. Only the blues have remained constant."

"You change. Light gone, dark stay. Minions see, accept. Blues no like change, no like change to order of things. You big change."

This was not a comforting conversation. Light gone? Dark stay? Minion but not minion? Did that have to do with the heat, her invisible collar? And what was this about the greens adopting her? Sol would have to look into this when she got back to the Tower.

Soon they came to a small hole in the ground. Sol got down on her knees and looked through.

It looked like an old ruin, the hole blasted in the ceiling. The walls and floors were made with blocks cut from bluish stone, illuminated by balls of white light like magical wisps stuck on the corners and along the walls.

With nowhere else to go, Sol jumped down into the room, her knees bent to absorb the impact. Rhaeg jumped down after and landed beside her.

On one wall was a set of large, stone doors carved with pictures of a peaceful forest scene. An Elven ruin, then. Sol tried the doors but found them locked. on the opposite walls was an empty doorway leading to a short flight of stairs down to a second doorway.

Sol went through, noting the small weeds and vines sprouting through the cracks in the walls and floor. As she went down the stairs they began to wither and die. What would suddenly cause that to happen? Sure, she could use a bath but it wasn't _that_ bad. When she passed through the doorway, the air droping in temperature, she got her answer.

Ghosts, transperant blue forms floating in the air before her. They must have been in a sort of hibernation state but had been awoken by her presence. Energy was needed to be able to manifest themselves, so they had taken it from the only nearby source, the plants.

"You are journeying towards damnation, outsider!" the dead Elf warned. "We are the ever vigilant ones, sworn to protect the tombs of our heroes fallen in battle."

"What about the ones who didn't fall in battle? What if they did a bunch of great deads, lived, came home and died of old age? Do they not deserve a fancy grave? Or what if there was an accident, like they fell down a flight of stairs and broke their necks?"

The ghost was not amused and stared back at Sol with a face as cold as stone.

"We guard their rest until they rise and reclaim our fallen kingdom."

Freakin' hilarious. Not the part about them waiting for zombies to rise and save them all, but the group of black clad raiders, the same as from Castle Spree by the look of them, dropping down from the ceiling and destroying one of the sarcophagus while the ghost rambled on about being ever vigilant. Oh, the irony.

The tombs must have been connected to the doors because the one in the room sprang open when it was destroyed. Not exactly the smartest of systems. Was that to make sure the other zombies didn't get out until the first one had risen? You never know with these Elves.

"Intruders! Defilers! infedels!" the ghost cried and chased after the raiders, leaving Sol and Rhaeg alone in the room. "Cease so I may strip the quivering flesh from your unholy bones!"

Sol followed some distance behind, well away from any flesh stripping that may occur. She entered a large room with another set of carved doors and hallways leading away on either side. Other tombs would have to be 'defiled' to open the door, Sol guessed.

She picked a hallway at random and found herself in a smaller room with three tombs in the back. Five Elven Ghosts guarded them but didn't attack Sol as long as she didn't go past the doorway.

"Go no further," one intoned. "We are the watchers."

And Sol did actually as he said, standing back with an amused smile as raiders dropped down from the ceiling once again (how did they even do that? There was nowhere to hide up there) and destroyed the tombs. The ghosts, distracted with eyes glued on Sol, didn't even notice.

One of the raiders looked over at Sol before jumping back up to the ceiling (Seriously, how did they do that? Magic?). Sol just smiled and waved, then turned and walked back to the main room.

This process was repeated several times, Sol distracting the ghostly guardians while the raiders destroyed the tombs to open the ruin doors. It was fun tricking Elves, even dead ones. So ageless and superior, but then you get the best of them and they throw tantrums like little children.

What the raiders thought of the whole thing Sol had no idea, but she did manage to get one to wave back at her.

Working together, they managed to make their way to the last chamber quickly. And then Sol was left wishing she had let the ghosts kill the lot of them.

They worked for Jewel, one of the heroes who helped to bring about the destruction of the Dark Tower. She hadn't changed a bit, adorned in gold jewelry and dressed like a whore. She didn't notice Sol standing in the back in the doorway, mostly because she was in the middle of a hissy fit, banging her fists against the stone altar.

"It's gone! The statue's gone! I told you lot to hurry up!" she cried, turning to the assembled raiders. "Fools! We're meant to be the thieves! And look, the rock huggers got here first!"

Jewel points over to a hole blown in the wall of the ruin, leading to a wide tunnel with lanterns hung on hooks along the walls. Whatever had been here, it would seem the dwarves had stolen it.

"Let's get out of here. You, call the Overseer!"

A creature unlike Sol had ever seen materialized in the room, a large floating eye with numerous tentacles. A blue light sprang from the beast, and from it came another hero, Kahn, a moutain of a man in rigid, black armor and wielding a massive flail.

"Honey! Love muffin! You musn't use the Overseer, snuggle bottom, the old man don't like it!" Kahn said. If he used one more disgustingly sweet pet name, Sol thought she would throw up. "Jewel, I don't like you running off like that my little thieving sugar plum. It maked Kahn angry!"

Kahn went from the protective boyfriend to enraged killer in moments. With a sweep of his flail he sent a raider flying across the room, dead.

"Look what you did!" Jewel chastized, then sighed. "Come on, you great lug. Let's go."

Blue light sprang from the eye creature once more and the assembled people disappeared. After a moment, the eye also dematerialized, leaving Sol and Rhaeg alone.

"So, this leads to the Dwarven kingdom," Sol mused, considering the tunnel.

_A land no doubt bloated with the spoils of war._

Sol jumped and spun around, seeing the Overlord standing in the doorway with a horde of minion.

"How did you get here? The door was sealed."

He raised a guantleted hand and a flame appeared on his open palm. He closed his fist and it went out.

_We had superior fire power._ _Now let us see what the dwarves have hidden away._


	19. Sol and the Bad Diplomacy

**Sorry this took so long. Originally, I was planning on a Mortis chapter, wrote it out but was far from happy with it, so I wrote this one instead. Remember, reviews are greatly appreciated and really motivate.**

The Followers had a system for defining worlds. They were either lower spectrum, where magic ruled, higher spectrum, where technology was dominant, or in a transition state. On the whole, this world would have been said to be lower spectrum bordering on a transition state, but the Dwarven kingdom was higher spectrum all the way. Sol hated higher spectrum places.

A thick, black trails of smoke entered the sky above the main Dwarven city, factories pumping out the poisonous clouds that left a layer of soot and coal dust on everything around and gave the air a vile smell. The resident Dwarves didn't seem to be bothered by it much, going about their business in the mining camps outside of the mines. Elves could be seen, pale, wretched creatures reduced to skin and bone, going in and out of the mines pushing carts filled with gold. Even from a distance Sol could tell the Elves were a step away from death, having been overworked in the dark underground, a place inhospitable to the forest dwelling race.

Gnarl's description of Dwarves had been accurate. 'Angry, beer-soaked beards on legs.' They certainly loved their alcohol and their facial hair. And their explosives. Can't foget about their explosives. And that had been their undoing.

Sol had snuck into the mining encampment. It wasn't hard to keep hidden from Dwarves. With their vision obscured by overly large helmets and bushy, unkempt moustaches, not to mention their seemingly perpetual state of inebriation, allowed for Sol to steal and place the necessary explosives.

The following explosion had been wonderous, especially to the minds of the assembled reds. The barracks, the storehouses, the outdoor mess hall, all had gone up in flames. Not even the masterly crafted armor the Dwarves were known for could save them from that, and you can't fight flames with revolutionary designed crossbows. Any survivors attempting to flee were cut down in green ambushes, and the rest were rounded up by the browns. It was rather ironic, the slave drivers reduced to chains themselves.

The Elves were estatic when the Overlord showed up. That only lasted for about seven seconds when they realized they weren't being set free, their master had just been changed. They were a bit better off, having been taken out of the mines and the captive Dwarves taking their place. They were much better suited for such labour, there short frames able to fit in smaller areas, strong enough to do the heavy lifting and hardy enough not to fall over and die at a moments notice. Elves, with their slight, slender frames were not suited for such heavy labour. Instead they performed lighter tasks, such as cleaning and other maintenance.

The mines were rich with deposits of gold, easily taken once the slug problem was dealt with. Regular minion patrols kept the infestation under control as well as a careful eye on the new mine slaves. Sol expected at least one uprising before the proud spirit of the Dwarves was well and truly broken, and they had to be prepared. Squash the future rebellion and then make an example by trapping some of the upstarts in an intentional cave in deep in the mines. That would keep them docile, and the mining would continue. All evil domains need funding.

While the lands outside of the main city of Golden Hills was under the Overlord's control, the Dwarves were far from conquered. Inside the city walls the Dwarven King Goldo, the fourth hero, commanded the remaining Dwarven forces. The city was under siege, now cut off from s outside upplies by the Overlord's minions.

Sieges, however, had the annoying habit of dragging on for very long periods of time. Weeks, months, even a year. It all depended on how much supplies the Dwarves had hidden away in that city of theirs. Given the typical design of Dwarven cities, only a fraction of it was visible, like an iceberg. The rest stretched deep underground, the multiple levels connected by moving platforms, going up and down with the pull of a lever and the grinding of gears. It was impossible to tell how big their store houses were, how much food they had or how many soldiers they had left.

Dwarven architecture was sturdy and strong, the walls of the city too tall to scale and too thick to destroy. Mounted ballista fired explosive bolts on anything that got too close. How to assualt such a place? For the moment, all the Overlord could do was try and wait them out until a plan could be formed.

Sol stood atop a hill overlooking the heavily fortified city, smog continuing to pour from the many factories. What were they making, anyway? Weapons? Some new technology? Ugh, Sol _hated_ higher spectrum places. Any fool with a crossbow could cut down a seasoned veteran from a distance before they could defend themselves.

To help protect against such attacks, a new suit of armor was commisioned for Sol. The Dwarves were masters at metal work, and the captured slaves had done well. She now wore a lightweight cuirass of Arcanium metal, the Arcanium forge having been found in the hills around the city, and light Arcanium plates had been attached to her gauntlets to protect the back of her hands and forearm, as well as her lower legs. It was heavier than what she was used to and would slow her down a bit, but as long as it kept her insides from becoming outsides she'd deal with it.

The elven slaves had also made themselves useful, once they stopped whining about their lost females. Magic was there forte, which included enchantments. Weaved into Sol's new hood was an improved version of the enchantment she already had, now able to hear communication from the Tower pool even when she wasn't near the Overlord, and she was now also able to communicate back. Her boots were imbued with magic to dampen sound, useful considering the extra weight she was carrying, and the mask covering the lower half of her face supposedly filtered air to keep it breathable. Sol hadn't had the chance to test it out personally, but the Elf who made it was still alive so she assumed it worked. What? Who was to say the Elf hadn't sabotaged it to spite his new masters?

Hold on, air. How did the lower levels of the Dwarven city get their air? Sol had never heard of a Dwarf with magic, so she could only assume some technology was involved. Turbines most likely, pumping down fresh air to keep the occupants from suffocating.

So, destroy the turbines and force the dwarves to crowd into the upper levels, hopefully having to abandon any necessary supplies stored down there. That would, in theory, shorten the siege and force them to surrender sooner.

That still left the question of just how to get in in the first place.

Sol sighed. She hated not knowing what to do. It entailed a lot of time just standing around and doing nothing, which left far too much time to think. And thinking was not something Sol wanted to do right then with everything going on, as her mind would unfailingly turn to questions that had no answers, serving only to worry and cause her much stress. Action was what she needed, a firm goal she could work towards that left no room for 'what ifs' or other wonderings.

Sol turned and headed back to the Tower Gate. Why couldn't they just open one of those beyond the city gates? That would have made everything so much easier. Gnarl had rambled on about how all the Dwarven machinery interfered with the magical energies required to create a Waypoint Gate, and unless the Overlord was standing right beside the place to give the magic a point to focus on, there would be no gate. Annoying, but it made sense. Magic and technology rarely mixed, the main reason why people would be naturally inclined to one or the other but not both.

In a flash of blue, Sol appeared in the Throne Room. With Spree, Evernight and the rural areas of Golden Hills now all part of the Overlord's domain, the minion population had exploded with all the available life force. Browns in newly aquired Dwarven armour stood guard on the edges of the room, tall pikes held at the ready. Reds and blues in lighter, Elven made armor of hardened leather stood ready behind and to the sides of the Throne. Greens were also present, hiding in the shadows amid the pillars and gilded statues.

Sol paid them no heed and walked with a purposeful stride up the stairs and down the hall to the newly declared 'War Room'. Gnarl had gone on about how every room of the Tower was dedicated to battle and bloodshed and a designated war room wasn't necessary, but Rose had put her foot down. Since said foot had been put down on Gnarl's head, no one else had made any objections.

Maps decorated the walls, bits of string connecting various areas. Their point Sol wasn't sure. She was going on the assumption they were there for show. On a large table in the center of the room was a scale model of Golden Hills, all the important landmarks clearly marked. The inside of the city past the looming walls was still mostly blank. While captive Dwarves had been 'persuaded' to describe the important locations in the city, but they weren't the most reliable of sources.

"Hit with any sudden inspiration?" Sol asked Rose, who had become something of a permanent fixture in the room.

Sol may have disliked not knowing what to do, but that was nothing when compared to the fierce fury Rose was feeling. She was all about plans and strategies, and couldn't stand the thought of their being something she couldn't think her way through. No one, not even the Dwarven architects who designed the city's walls, would outsmart Rose, who took the whole situation as a personal insult.

"I can't find a single structual weakness!" Rose exclaimed, not looking up from the model. "The place is built more like a fortress than a city. Given how the whole place was built on solid stone, we can't just tunnel in either. Gods' know how they managed to dig their own systems. We're not getting in unless they decide to open the gates for us! That or if the minions suddenly sprout wings. Even if we did get in, we haven't the means to take on the whole of the Dwarven army. They'd just stay down in the tunnels, setting ambushes and traps for any force that goes after them. And we wouldn't be able to just leave them, either. An entire army beneath our feet, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? Not very logical."

"I think I can solve that problem. Destroy the air turbines, make it impossible to live in the lower levels. Still, we need a way into the city and a plan to deal with the army once it makes a break for the surface."

Rose looked up to face Sol, a thoughtful expression soon replaced with a smile.

"Ok, I don't know what you're thinking right now, but I definately do not like that look."

...

"I knew I didn't like that look," Sol muttered under her breath so her Dwarven companion, Durgan, didn't hear.

He was eager to be returned to his city and people, quickening his stride so much that Sol had to pull him back several times and remind him to stay next to her. Durgan had been in charge of overseeing the mining camp, selected by King Goldo himself to ensure all of his precious gold made it to his keep. Since he was the highest ranking of all the captives, he was chosen to lead Sol inside the city on a 'mission of diplomacy', and the Dwarf's release had been intended as a show of good faith. Durgan had been told Sol was acting as an ambassador of sorts with the intention of setting the terms of a treaty between Goldo and the Overlord.

The mounted ballista followed the small group as they neared the gates, but upon seeing only two figures, and one a Dwarf no less, they let them approach.

After some shouting between Durgan and figures atop the wall, the city gates slowly opened just enough for the two to pass inside and then slammed shut behind them. A large, heavily armed force waited to greet them, swords already drawn and crossbows trained on the Wanderer. A Dwarven commander stood in the center of the swordsmen and was the only one who didn't have his weapon drawn.

"I am Sol, sent by the merciful Lord Kaern, ruler of the Dark Tower and supreme Overlord of Spree and Evernight, to speak with his majesty King Goldo."

The Dwarven commander motioned to Durgan, who happily ran behind the ranks of the soldiers. Then the commander walked up to Sol, no hurry in his step until he stopped directly in front of her. His face was obscured behind his ornate helm and out of control beard, so Sol had no clue as to what he was thinking.

When he draw back and punched her square in the face with an armored fist, she got a pretty good idea.

Sol fell backwards, twisting her body so as to not land on the strangely bloated pack she carried. She stayed on the ground longer than necessary before hauling herself back to her feet, her pack now much lighter and less disgusting smelling.

"Is this how you treat your guests? Small wonder nobody likes Dwarves."

The commander turned his back on Sol and began to walk away, signaling to his men who quickly surounded her.

"Take this arrogant bitch to the dungeons. Then we'll wring all the tyrant's plans out of her."

_I always get the best jobs_ Sol thought as she was disarmed and dragged away. Though she offered no resistance, she was already covered in bruises before they even made it to the next street. By the time the iron cell door was slammed shut, she was unconscious.


End file.
